Shattered
by SGAFan
Summary: A close shave with death leaves John Sheppard searching for answers. Warning: Shep Whump!
1. Chapter 1

**_Shattered_**

The soft caress of darkness withdrew. Faintly, he became aware of the murmur of voices; the hum of life around him. He swallowed hard against a painfully dry throat and managed a quiet moan. The scuffle of feet to his left gave him something to focus his slowly recovering attention on and he carefully peeled open his eyes. The face that met his gaze held an odd expression of worry mixed with relief. Dark curls brushed her shoulders and her green eyes were intent on his.

He blinked sluggishly and stared hard at her. Deep inside, a nagging whisper told him he should know her and her expression spoke of a closeness; intimate in its familiarity. His head was groggy and it hurt. Any sort of words escaped him.

"John? Just relax. You're in the infirmary. Carson's on his way."

He blinked again; a slow, languid action and inhaled deeply.

"John?" The worry in her expression intensified with the wrinkle that formed on her brow. "John, can you understand me?"

He didn't know where his voice was, so he settled for a slight nod, his head brushing against his pillow.

A small smile creased her face and drove back the worry lines. "Okay. That's good. Can't expect you to be ready to jump out of bed, at least not yet."

A warm softness covered his hand and he slowly looked down, to find hers gripping his knuckles. He swallowed hard, his scattered thoughts starting to come together. It was there again, that intimacy, that closeness... something that heralded a friendship that was so much more than what he remembered... what he knew. He tensed, feeling painfully uncomfortable as his gaze left her hand and found her face.

He watched her stiffen in reaction to what he knew she saw, but he couldn't find the words or his voice to say anything. He was uncomfortable... confused... maybe even a little scared, and he let his eyes tell her, somehow knowing she was astute in her ability to silently observe. The warmth of her hand was replaced by cool air as she withdrew her grasp.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice laced with confusion.

John felt his brow wrinkle as a wave of guilt passed over him. He glanced away for a minute before looking back at her his gaze questioning.

She smiled slightly. "It's okay, John, you've been through a lot. Don't worry about anything right now, except getting better."

It was at that point he realized his head felt strange... constricted. But, he didn't have a chance to think more on it before movement caught his attention. A kind looking man in a white doctor's coat walked towards his bed. Behind him, were a pretty brunette woman, a huge, imposing man and another average sized man. They all seemed concerned; and looked at him with expressions that spoke the same familiarity as the woman's.

John felt like he wanted to sink into his bed and escape. Confusion swarmed over him and with it, fear. The place was strange, the people were strange; nothing was recognizable and it scared the hell out of him. He tensed, trying to keep rein on his fear, but somehow, they knew.

The kind looking man stopped next to his bed and looked up at a monitor for a moment, before smiling at him in a reassuring way. "Aye, easy son," the man soothed in an accented voice, "you're all right."

John opened his mouth, tried to say something, but his actions were wordless and it only added to his disoriented fear. He felt a light sweat break out on his forehead as he pulled in a ragged breath.

"Carson? What is it?"

The average sized man's voice was taunt... worried. Somehow, John knew it was unusual.

Carson turned and looked back. "All of ye need to leave."

"Carson..." the dark haired woman started.

"Now, Elizabeth," Carson's voice was gentle but firm. I'll come talk to ye in a bit."

John's looked at her and he saw her hesitation, but after a moment she nodded slightly and turned to the others. His gaze followed hers.

The brunette smiled slightly, her expression full of compassion and caring but he found no comfort from it. The large man's face was an unreadable mask and the other man looked clearly uncomfortable. They all followed the woman… Elizabeth, leaving him alone with… _Carson?_

Confusion swarmed over John. He inhaled loudly through his nose once and then again, as he tried to rein in an instinctive, confused fear that pushed at his weak control. He stared the kind man… Carson, in the eyes and saw only understanding empathy.

Carson reached back, grabbed a stool and sat down next to the bed. He looked John over for a minute. Oddly, John felt a comfort from his presence, a trust that was inherent. He felt relief to be almost alone again, to not have so many gazes on him, expecting something that he couldn't give. He took a deeper, slower breath as Carson once again looked at his face, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"John? Son, do ye remember me?" Carson asked quietly.

Confusion laced with apprehension once again flowed through John. He squeezed his eyes shut his face twisting into a grimace. A compassionate grip squeezed his shoulder and he opened his eyes in response, to find Carson staring intently at him.

"'Tis all right, lad. I suspected this might happen."

As quickly as it found him, Carson's hand left John's shoulder. "Relax, John. Ye need your rest."

John felt as tight as a bowstring ready to snap. His confusion ran deep and left fear in its wake. He pulled in a tense, loud breath, then another. Alone. He just needed to be alone. To figure out what was happening… to try and remember… his gaze followed Carson around the bed as he grabbed a syringe and pulled up some medication.

Carson held the syringe close to the IV port and smiled down at John. "It'll help you sleep. Right now that's what ye need." His smiled deepened into a gentle, reassuring one. "I know you're confused right now." His hand made no move towards the IV and his gaze never left John's. "Trust me. I want to help ye. Will you let me?"

John couldn't tear his eyes from Carson's. Somewhere, deep inside him a voice told him to listen; told him to trust Carson… told him it'd be okay. Silently… slowly, John nodded.

Carson nodded once and turned back to the IV where he quickly injected the medicine.

John never took his eyes from the gentle doctor as a warm, relaxing feeling swept through him, driving away his fear and anxiety and leaving only a comfortable drowsiness behind. His eyelids felt heavy and longed to close. The last thing John saw, was Carson's kind face staring back at him.

"Sleep, son."

Carson's gentle voice lulled him and John succumbed.

-------------------------

Carson sighed quietly as he watched John's eyes close and his body relax into the bed. He stood there for a minute, watching John's sleeping form. For the past week, while they'd all waited anxiously for John to awaken, so many scenarios had played over in Carson's mind. He'd done every test he could but ultimately he knew the extent of John's head injury could never be ascertained until the colonel woke up. And now that he had...

Carson shook his head. Uncertainty, fear and confusion had all been dominant in John's face. Even without being able to speak, Carson knew the trauma his brain had experienced had lasting effects on him. How much, he didn't know, not yet, but Carson was almost sure retrograde amnesia was a factor. What other motor or cognitive skills the colonel had lost still had to be determined.

Like a bad horror movie, flashbacks a week ago raced across his mind. Teyla's desperate hail that the colonel had been injured... Running through the gate to find her breathing for him, her technique keeping him alive while Ronon and even Rodney stood guard... The colonel motionless... limp on a fast moving gurney, his head wrapped in a blood soaked field bandage and c-spine immobilized and secured to a backboard. His pale face... The ambu bag the only thing keeping him breathing as they burst into the infirmary...

Carson shook off the memories and watched John a moment longer. It'd been ten days before they had been able to wean John off the ventilator and extubate him, allowing the colonel to breathe on his own. Close shave with death didn't even begin to explain what he had experienced. Satisfied his patient was resting quietly for now, Carson slowly pulled back the privacy curtain and walked out into the infirmary. He shut the curtain behind him and waved his medic, Carolyn Lansing, over to him. "Carolyn, love, I want one person on days and one on nights assigned to Colonel Sheppard. I don't want a parade of different people tending to him. He needs some consistency right now."

Carolyn nodded silently. "Is he okay, Carson?"

Carson pursed his lips. "Don't know yet. At the least it appears he has memory loss."

Carolyn nodded again. "I'll see to it."

Carson left her and walked towards Elizabeth and the others who waited not so patiently on the far side of the infirmary. His smile was thin... strained as he walked up to them.

"Carson?" Elizabeth, as usual, was the first to speak.

"I gave him something to help him sleep; it's the best thing right now," Carson responded. "He'll be out for a few hours at least, probably longer."

Elizabeth nodded slightly. "How is he?"

Carson glanced away for a moment before looking back at her. "It's hard to tell yet. But, he seemed reasonably aware for someone in his condition. Right now, I'm taking that as a good sign. We'll know more once he's had some time to get a little stronger."

"He did not speak," Teyla interjected. "But, I believe he wanted to." Her voice was worried.

Carson nodded. "Aye, that's not uncommon. Coma patients often can't speak when they first wake. The speech center can take a wee bit to recover."

"He seemed... lost," Elizabeth interrupted quietly. Her brows furrowed at him. "Carson, he looked scared." Her voice was slightly disbelieving.

Carson swallowed. "He was... or rather he is. He's confused too and probably a bit anxious. I won't know for sure until I can test him further, but I suspect he's suffering from retrograde amnesia."

"Oh my god," Rodney interjected, "he doesn't know who we are, does he?"

"No, Rodney, he doesn't. "Carson affirmed. "I asked him. He doesn't remember any of us."

"How did that happen?" Ronon's voice was disbelieving in its intensity.

"Retrograde amnesia can be a side effect of brain trauma like the colonel experienced," Carson sighed. "Often large parts of their memory are missing. As I said, I won't know the extent until I can test him further."

"That's why," Elizabeth whispered. When Carson looked at her she continued. "I... I touched his hand when he first woke It seemed to make him uncomfortable."

"Aye, it would," Carson nodded. "Amnesia patients often have a hard time dealing with people that were once close to them. They can't remember so to them it's like a perfect stranger or a barely known acquaintance walking up and hugging them or doing anything personal. It's a very uncomfortable situation for them." Carson smiled thinly at her. "And for you. You can't take it personally, Elizabeth."

She smiled back. "No. No I don't. It makes perfect sense."

Carson sighed loudly. "He's going to be out for quite a while. None of you are doing any good here."

"Is that your not so subtle way of telling us to leave?" Rodney answered, his voice holding a slight note of familiar sarcasm; something they hadn't heard much of from him since the T'eshii grenade nearly killed John.

"Aye," Carson responded directly. "I know for a fact none of you have been getting enough sleep. I'm ordering you all to eat and rest."

It was Elizabeth that acquiesced first. "Point taken. Keep us posted." She squeezed his forearm gently.

"I will. Off you go." Carson stood his ground as the four of them silently left the infirmary. As the door closed behind them, he turned and walked back to John's private corner. Carefully pulling back the curtain, Carson walked into the secluded area and pulled it shut behind him. He walked around the bed to the stool, still sitting next to John and sat down. He folded his hands on his lap and stared at the colonel. It was a long time before he left.


	2. Chapter 2

He felt better this time. As unconsciousness faded, his head felt clearer, his body stronger. John slowly opened his eyes and inhaled deeply. He winced slightly. His whole body felt sore, like he'd gone ten rounds with Holyfield, but his head, that was the worst. He closed his eyes, wondering if he could chase away the little man with the big sledgehammer that was pounding his skull. He groaned quietly and immediately heard footsteps approach his bed.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

Reluctant to open his eyes, John's brows still furrowed in confusion. _Colonel?_

He resigned himself to the throbbing in his head and slowly opened his eyes, staring at the warm smiling face of a woman; apparently on the medical staff. He squinted. Something tugged at his mind. He felt like he knew her and yet she was a stranger to him, both at the same time. He swallowed hard. "I..." his cracked voice trailed off. What was he going to say? I don't know you but then again I do? His confusion must've been apparent on his face, because her smile turned understanding.

"It's all right, Colonel. I'm Carolyn. Carolyn Lansing."

John managed a half smile. "Nice to meet you," he whispered. "And it's major... not colonel," he corrected lightly. His smile faded as a barely concealed look of confusion passed over her face before she quickly hid it under another smile.

"Of course. I'm sorry." She looked up at the monitor over his head for a moment, before she gently took his wrist and measured his pulse rate. She stared at her watch but still made idle conversation. "You're stronger today. Are you in any pain?"

John hesitated, before smiling slightly. "Pretty sore, but I'm all right."

She stared at him for a moment, before nodding and setting his arm down gently on the bed. "How does your bandage feel?"

Her words alerted his senses and he immediately became aware of a tight wrap around his head. His gaze narrowed slightly. "Bandage?" He lifted a shaking hand to his head, his touch encountering thick gauze. He let his arm drop. "What happened?"

Her ever present small smile faded slightly. "I'll let Dr. Beckett talk to you about that."

Suddenly, as if the pieces of a giant puzzle were falling together, John made the connection. His head... his memory... "It's why I can't remember..." his voice trailed off as the worry within him was replaced by fear. His ragged breath hissed through his clenched teeth as he struggled to stay calm. A warm squeeze on his arm grabbed his attention. He looked up and into the strongly reassuring expression on Carolyn's face. The compassion he felt from her touch overpowered any discomfort he had from someone he felt he barely knew touching him in such a personal way.

"John," she said quietly, "you're going to be fine. We're all going to help you."

"Carolyn?" John panted slightly, "what happened to me?"

She sighed quietly. "You were in an accident. I'm sorry, John, but I can't tell you anything more until Dr. Beckett has had a chance to talk to you. But," she squeezed his arm again, "you're going to be okay."

John looked away from her for a moment before nodding slightly. Her hand left his arm.

"Just relax. I'm going to get Dr. Beckett, then we'll take a look at your bandage, okay?"

His mind still reeling, John managed a small whisper. "okay." He watched her disappear behind the privacy curtain before his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The architecture looked unlike anything he'd ever seen and did nothing to comfort him. _Where the hell am I? What happened? _He forced his pounding head to think, to go back... to find the last thing he remembered before waking up here.

"_Request permission to lead a search team," John stared hard at his CO, his determination unwavering._

_Colonel Hays sighed. "John, the conditions are rapidly deteriorating. The temperature out there alone makes it questionable they're even alive. On top of that, you've got blinding snow and crosswinds from hell. You won't even be able to see the nose of your chopper, much less anything else."_

"_With all due respect, sir, those men are out there in it," John countered his voice deep with intensity, "we can't just leave them, not if there's a chance they're alive." _

"_John it's the weather that brought Stiles team down in the first place and it's only gotten worse. I don't need two lost crews!" Hays voice raised slightly in frustration._

_John pulled in a deep breath as he scrutinized his CO. The frustration at not being able to do anything shone clearly on the colonel's face, and John knew, without a doubt, Hays wanted nothing more then to authorize the rescue mission and find those men, come hell, high water or blinding blizzards. Hays was a good soldier; one John could relate to and in a moment of black cynicism John wondered, if there were CO's out there he could get along with, why did the brass who condemned him have to be such pricks... John pulled in a loud, deep breath. "I'm volunteering," he said quietly. "I know the risks. I'm not asking anyone to go with me." _

"_You don't have to ask," a voice, heavy with a deep southern drawl interrupted from behind John. "You'll need a medic." _

_John couldn't quite stifle a smile as he turned and looked directly at Lieutenant Edwards. The Mississippi native smiled mischievously back at him._

_A deep, almost humored sigh grabbed John's attention and he looked back to Hays. _

"_Oh hell," Hays muttered. "You're two peas in a pod. How I ever had the bad luck to end up with both of you in my command..." Hays sighed again and stared hard at John. "Permission granted." He raised his hand, stopping John before he could turn away. "On one condition. You two get your asses back here in one piece. That's an order."_

_John smiled slightly. "Yes, sir, and we'll bring Stiles and his guys back with us." _

_Hays nodded once. "Go." _

John blinked hard as the memory faded. His gaze again focused on the ceiling above him, the memory doing nothing to clear his confusion. This wasn't McMurdo... He turned his head slightly as the curtain opened and Carolyn returned, Carson right behind her.

"Colonel? Feeling better?" Carson asked as he stopped at the foot of John's bed and glanced at his chart.

John's brows furrowed. _Colonel again?_ "Compared to what?" he managed softly. A quiet sigh escaped him as Carson's expression turned concerned. "Yeah," he muttered. "And it's major," there was an edge to his voice, "not colonel," he emphasized.

Carson set the chart on a nearby tray table and slowly walked up next to John's bed. "What's the last thing you remember, son?"

John swallowed hard. "Colonel Hays gave Edwards and me a go to try and find Stiles' team." Even as the words left his mouth, John somehow felt they were wrong. "Did we crash?" he asked quietly. His eyes roved around the room for a minute. "This isn't McMurdo..." his voice trailed off and he looked back at Carson who shook his head slightly.

"No, it isn't," Carson answered quietly. He took a step closer to the bed, his gaze demanding John's attention. "You're **Lieutenant Colonel** John Sheppard; commanding officer of the Atlantis expedition."

"Atlantis," John breathed, "colonel?" He took one ragged breath, than another. "What the hell?"

Carson eased himself onto the edge of John's bed. "It's all right. I expected you to be confused. You suffered a head injury, Colonel. Depressed skull fracture complicated by a subdural hematoma. I won't lie to ye, you're lucky to be alive."

John's thoughts raced his rapid breathing matching speed. "Did I crash?" he repeated softly, somehow knowing what the answer would be.

Carson shook his head. "No. ye, didn't crash, Colonel." He smiled thinly and put a warm hand on John's shoulder. "I wasn't sure the extent of brain damage before you woke up, but, you're alert and responsive. This conversation is a very good sign that it's not as bad as it could've been."

"Glad this conversation is reassuring to one of us," John answered, not able to keep the cynicism from his voice.

Carson pursed his lips. "I know this is a lot for you to take in at once, son, and it has to be very frustrating, but we're going to help ye through this. You're suffering from retrograde amnesia, not overly common in trauma like this, but not unheard of." He sighed. "I expect memories will start coming back to you and we'll help you with that too, but ye have to be patient; give yourself time to heal."

John swallowed, his mind numb with shock as he tried to process everything Carson said to him. Finally, he just nodded silently. Apparently, that was good enough for Carson who stood up.

"I want to take a look at that hard head of yours now, Colonel," Carson teased lightly. "I need you to sit up, but I want you to do it slow and easy. Carolyn will help you. Take your time, there's no rush."

John turned his gaze to Carolyn and managed a feeble smile.

She returned the favor with a stronger more reassuring smile than his and extended her hand towards him.

John took her hand and let her support and help him as he slowly sat up. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten and just about as helpless, but the calm look on Carolyn's face reassured him that he must be doing okay. Abruptly, his world tilted and John squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his head and breathed through the sudden nausea that plagued him. He felt Carolyn's grip tighten and Carson's strong hand on his back.

"Easy son," Carson's voice was quiet. "I don't expect your head's going to be too fond of ye moving for quite a while yet."

A light sheen of sweat broke out on his brow as he took another ragged breath and swallowed hard, trying to keep his rebellious stomach under control.

"Carson? He's pretty pale."

Carolyn's voice sounded distant to John as he held tight to her arm and even tighter to his control.

"Aye," Carson agreed, "I got him. Grab a basin."

"No," John managed in a choked voice. "'m ok..."

"All right," Carson answered. "I'll make this as fast as possible."

John felt the bandages on his head move before slowly lifting away. He clung tight to Carolyn's hand and arm using it to stay grounded and to stave off the vertigo that plagued him. He hissed in pain as something pushed on the right side of his skull.

"Sorry," Carson muttered, "looking better. We'll get another pass with the Ancient scanner, an MRI and set of X-rays tomorrow."

John could feel the shaking in his weak body as it neared the end of its limited endurance. As Carson's hands left his head, he couldn't hold it up and his head gently fell forward to come to rest on Carolyn's shoulder. For a moment, he was motionless before he realized he was leaning heavily on the medic. He tried to lift his head. "Sorry..." his voice trailed off as he felt Carolyn's hand tighten around his.

"Its okay, we're almost done," she answered gently.

"Aye son, almost," Carson reaffirmed as his hand slowly pushed up on John's forehead. "Just let me get ye re-bandaged here..."

John did his best to hold his head up but he could feel the muscles in his neck shaking with exhaustion and a moment of relief washed over him as Carson finished. He felt Carson's hand on the back of his head, supporting him.

"All right. Lay down, nice and slow now. Let Carolyn help you."

John eased himself back, letting his head settle into Carson's hand and using Carolyn's grip to slowly lay down. His head met the soft pillow and he felt Carson pull his hand free as Carolyn laid his arm close to his body.

"Get some rest, Colonel," Carson urged quietly. "We'll talk more later."

John fought his heavy eyelids. He had so many questions, so much he needed to think about, but his worn out mind and body won over. This time, he needed no drugs as his eyelids fell shut and he succumbed to exhaustion.

----------------------------------

Elizabeth watched as Ronon once again paced past her. She knew it had only been a few minutes since Carson had disappeared behind the privacy curtain to check John, but it'd seemed like an eternity. She could still see the haunted and lost look in John's eyes when he'd seen her; void of any recognition or the familiarity she'd come to enjoy. The fear she saw in his features stoked a fear within her as well. She'd rarely seen him scared, truly scared.

She sighed quietly as Ronon's form passed her again, but decided against saying anything. Rodney, however had no such reservations.

"You're wearing a track in the floor, Conan," Rodney snapped. "Want to knock it off?"

Wordlessly, Ronon turned and stalked over to Rodney. He stood close, his form dwarfing the scientist. His dark eyes intense, Ronon stared down at Rodney.

"Of course," Rodney stammered, "that's really only a request..." his voice trailed off as Teyla pulled gently but insistently on Ronon's arm.

"Ronon," Teyla said quietly.

Elizabeth watched a spark of emotion, mostly frustration, race across Ronon's face before he buried it under a mask and stepped back. Fueled by concern, tempers were definitely short all around, including hers which she tried to bury under professionalism. "We don't need any more casualties," she warned quietly, her green eyes locking on Ronon's strong brown ones before she sent the same warning glare at Rodney. Her gaze softened as she caught sight of Carson emerging from behind the privacy curtain concealing John's bed. Elizabeth pushed away from the pillar she leaned on and was the first one to reach Carson. "How is he?"

Carson sighed. "Sleeping again. Truthfully, it's the best for him." He waved towards the far side of the infirmary. "Come with me." Carson headed for a large diagnostic display.

Elizabeth stopped slightly to the left of the display as the others gathered close to her. She bit her lip in apprehension as Carson typed a couple keys before a three dimensional, graphical display of the brain came up on the screen. She stared at it a moment before sighing quietly. "Carson, how bad is it?"

Carson gave her a thin smile. "Not as bad as it could've been, but there is damage."

"How bad?" Rodney interjected.

"Just hold on a minute, "Carson raised his hand. "Let me explain what is going on." He pointed at the screen. "The colonel's depressed skull fracture and subsequent subdural hematoma, occurred here, about two inches above and about an inch in front of his ear." He ran his finger along a dark line in the image. "This 'line' for lack of better description, marks the separation between the temporal and parietal lobes of the brain. Behind that is the hippocampus."

"Carson, enough with brain anatomy 101!" Rodney snapped. "What's wrong with him?"

"Rodney," Elizabeth admonished quietly.

"I'm getting to that, Rodney," Carson patiently answered. "Based on the colonel's MRI the trauma to his brain occurred in this area," his finger traced a circle that encompassed parts of both lobes. "The temporal lobe trauma, along with what I suspect is trauma to the hippocampus is causing his retrograde amnesia. The MRI shows evidence of trauma to this small area of the parietal lobe but I haven't been able to ascertain if that has had any lasting effect on him, not yet. As for what other effects his injuries have had on him, I don't know yet. I'll be running several standard tests, targeting the function of each of these lobes, to determine the extent of damage to his brain."

"In other words, you still don't know," Rodney replied coldly.

"No, I don't and probably won't have a complete analysis for a week or so. Symptoms he displays now could fade as areas of his brain recover, others may not. It's just too early to tell."

"Carson, what sort of... impediments are we talking about?" Part of Elizabeth didn't want to ask, but the other part of her wanted to be prepared for what may be coming.

Carson's loud sigh was accompanied by a slow shake to his head. "There's a wide range of potential problems, some minor, some very severe and could effect him the rest of his life." He pointed at the screen again. "The parietal lobe is crucial to integrating sensory information from the rest of the body as well as controlling fine motor skills such as writing. It's also vital to spatial orientation. I can rule out damage to speech and word association as he's coherent and making sense, but beyond that, I'm not sure. Damage to the hippocampus effects memory, which we've already seen, as well as damage to the temporal lobe," his hand move down slightly on the display, "which could cause a variety of behavioral issues." Carson turned around, crossed his arms and looked directly at Elizabeth. "He's confused and even a wee bit scared right now and that's on top of just trying to recover from the physical trauma his body's experienced. I want to give him some time before I test him too much or throw too much at him."

"Can we help?" Teyla asked quietly. "Perhaps we can be there for him as support?"

Carson smiled slightly at her. "Aye, but remember, lass, he doesn't remember any of you. You have to treat him accordingly, but yes, he could use friends."

"He'll have them," Ronon interjected.

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and took a silent moment to process everything Carson had said. "We know for sure he's suffering from retrograde amnesia, do you know the last thing he remembers?"

Carson leaned wearily back against the table holding the display screen and nodded. "Aye. Right now, the last thing he remembers is a rescue mission in Antarctica. Something about a crew that went down in a storm and he and one other officer went after them." Carson looked away for a moment. "When he woke, he corrected both Carolyn and I on his rank, insisting he was a major."

"Oh my god," Elizabeth muttered as she looked away.

"Carson, his tour in Antarctica was three years ago!" Rodney answered.

"Aye," Carson agreed, "that it is. With some help we should be able to improve on that, hopefully by a significant amount. It depends on the extent of damage."

"How much?" Elizabeth knew she was pressing Carson for a defined answer when he probably didn't have one.

Carson shook his head. "Ideally? Everything but the immediate memories surrounding the accident. He'll probably never regain those. Realistically? I'm hoping he'll eventually recover most of the last three years, but he'll probably have holes, things he won't remember. If the damage to the temporal lobe and especially the hippocampus is bad enough, he may not even recover that. Right now, I just don't know."

"What about the scanner?" Rodney suddenly interjected.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him in confusion. "What are you talking about, Rodney?"

"Oh no," Carson shook his head. "No way."

"Gentlemen," Elizabeth chastised. "Care to inform the rest of us about this scanner?"

"The Ancient's scanner," Rodney immediately responded. "We're almost positive that it also has healing elements to it; the ability to heal complex injuries that it scans in the body. But, we've never been able to figure out how it works."

"You've never taken the time to really look into it, Rodney," Carson rebutted.

"Yes, yes!" Rodney snapped back. "I've been kind of busy with, oh I don't know, power? ZedPM's? Wraith attacks and shields?" Rodney waved his hand furiously. "The point is, the thing has the ability to heal way above our current technology. We just haven't tested it yet."

"Aye!" Carson interjected, "and I'm not about to test the bloody thing on the Colonel's brain!"

"I think you're a little ahead of yourself, Rodney," Elizabeth raised her hand to stop Rodney's protest. "Right now, we don't know for sure what John's injuries are. If you don't know how to use it, we're not testing it on him."

"I wasn't suggesting a blind test without knowing what the hell we're doing," Rodney objected. "I'm just saying, I think I can figure it out, and it might help."

"Researching it won't hurt anything," Carson nodded, "but you're going to have to do a fair bit of convincing and proving for me to authorize it."

Elizabeth's attention was diverted by Ronon moving. "I'm leaving all of this to you. Gonna go sit with him for a while." Without another word, he turned and left the rest of them.

"Ronon has a good idea," Teyla started to follow only to be stopped by Carson's voice.

"No, love, sorry," he smiled apologetically, "only one at a time, too many strange faces are too overwhelming. We need to take this at his pace."

Teyla smiled understandingly. "Of course."

Carson pushed away from the table and stood straight. "I wish I could tell ye more right now, but I just don't have the answers yet."

Elizabeth nodded silently, keeping a firm rein on her emotions. "Keep me posted." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and briskly left the infirmary.

As she walked down the long corridors of Atlantis, her mind raced. _Memory loss... three years of memory loss. My god, he doesn't remember anything about Atlantis, the Wraith, his job... his friends._ Carson's words rang in her head. _Spatial orientation, sensory loss, loss of fine motor skills, permanent behavior issues..._ she swallowed hard against a lump that pushed in her throat and made a beeline for the nearest outdoor balcony she could find. _Was he even John Sheppard anymore?_

Elizabeth stepped through a set of large doors, and scanned the spacious balcony a sense of irony sweeping over her. Through some twist of fate, she'd ended up on the very same balcony they'd had their first Atlantis celebration on, shortly after rescuing Teyla and their people from the Wraith.

She slowly crossed the balcony to the very edge and rested her hands on the railing as memories came back to her... the very same memories John was now denied.

"_Well, you are the ranking military officer now, or do you need to be reminded of that? We need to get back out there; do what we came to do."_

"_You do realize I can get us into all sorts of trouble, right?"_

Her grip on the railing tightened and she let the professional mask she'd clung to, fall. John had made good on his words, god, they all had made mistakes, not just him, but he'd also done so much for her, his team and the entire expedition. She closed her eyes, and prayed she'd have to endure John Sheppard's "trouble" again.


	3. Chapter 3

_I am really sorry to be tardy on updates. I have some serious issues in RL right now that are cutting into my writing time, not to mention distracting me. I intend to continue this story though! Thank you so much for the kind reviews!_

_There are some minor references to one of my other stories, "Darkness Runs Deep" in this chapter and probably will be worked into the whole story. However, this story is a standalone, but you might want to give "Darkness" a read if you feel inclined ;)_

_----------------------- _

"_Get down!"_

"_Colonel!"_

John's eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply, his body tensing. For a moment, he felt dread and fear, before the pieces of what his mind was trying to remember disappeared.

"John."

He turned his head slightly and looked into a set of gentle, brown eyes and he recognized the brunette woman as one of the people that had been there before. He felt a trickle of sweat on his forehead and she must've seen it for she looked away a moment and reached for something. When she looked back, she held her smile and wiped a cloth across his forehead. John swallowed hard and stared at her. His instincts told him he should know her, but his mind drew a blank. Uncomfortable and just a little scared, he pursed his lips and looked away. Her hand left his brow.

"I am Teyla," she said gently. "It is all right that you do not recognize me. I am still your friend."

Her soft, understanding words reassured him, if only slightly. He stared back at her. "Sorry," he muttered.

Her smile was warm and compassionate. "Do not apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for."

One side of his mouth turned up slightly. "Thanks… Teyla." He relaxed slightly. "Tell me about you."

Teyla leaned back in her chair. "I am Athosian and a member of your team." A look of respect crossed her face. "We have fought side by side many times."

John sighed. _Member of his team? Fought together? _His brow wrinkled. That was important. He knew it signified a close bond; something only forged by braving life and death situations together. Yet, none of it was familiar. "Wish I remembered," he commented quietly. His eyes met hers.

Teyla stared intently at him. "That will come, John. You must give yourself time to heal. Then you will remember."

Her voice was confident and John let some of that reassure him.

She inhaled deeply. "Something disturbed your sleep," she stated quietly, "do you wish to speak of it?"

Fleeting moments of danger, fear and dread passed through him. He swallowed against a lump in his throat. Whatever his mind couldn't piece together felt personal; and he hesitated. She must've sensed his uncertainty.

"You do not have to speak of it, John."

Her understanding tone quelled his unease and suddenly he felt comfortable with her… like he'd known her for a long time. _Apparently, I have…_ John's brows furrowed and he took a deep breath. "Not much to talk about. More of an impression than anything…" he closed his eyes. "Something… dangerous." After a long moment, he sighed and opened his eyes. "It's not there. I… I can't remember."

"Have patience, John," Teyla counseled.

John arched a brow in dark cynicism. "That's not one of my fortes," he muttered. He looked at Teyla as she chuckled quietly.

"I know," she affirmed.

Her light humor was contagious and, in spite of the situation, he smiled slightly. "You really do know me." As quick as it came, his smile faded.

"Yes," Teyla nodded, "I do."

"Teyla?" he pursed his lips. "What…" John swallowed hard. "What happened? Were you there?" He thought he saw something resembling guilt fleet across her expression, but it was only for a moment before she buried it in an impassive mask.

"I was there," she answered quietly. She looked away for a moment, before her gaze once more found his. "I cannot tell you, John, not yet. You must begin to remember on your own first."

John bit back his frustration and just nodded slightly.

"I am sorry," Teyla continued. "It is for the best."

John softened his expression some. "Yeah."

Abruptly, the privacy curtain was pulled back to reveal Carson's smiling face. "I thought I heard voices in here. How are you feeling, Colonel?"

John found a small smile. "Little stronger." He started pushing himself up to his elbows. "Can I…" his voice trailed off as a wave of vertigo stopped him dead to rights. He closed his eyes and slowly sank back to his pillow with a groan.

"Ach," Carson walked up to his bed, "let that be a lesson to ye. Two days out of a coma with a head injury and you expect to dance the bloody jig." He looked down at John and sighed. "You are **not** the best patient I've ever had, Colonel."

John kept his eyes closed a moment longer, until he was sure the room had stopped spinning and the pain in his head had dulled back to a persistent throb. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at Carson. "I hate hospitals."

Carson snorted quietly but said nothing. He gently placed a clipboard on John's lap. "I have a little exercise for you if you're up to it?"

John nodded slightly. "Yeah, what?"

Carson fished around in his pocket and pulled out a pen which he held in front of John. "Write your name for me."

Slightly confused, John slowly reached up and took the pen. He glanced at Teyla, whose face was an unreadable mask, before looking down at the blank piece of paper. "Write my name? Why?" He arched a brow at Carson.

"Trust me, just do it," Carson urged.

John's other brow joined the first as he lifted the clipboard with his free hand but as he lifted the pen to the paper, he found himself staring blankly at it. He slowly started to write, but the scribbling mark he made in no way resembled a J. He sucked in a loud breath and dropped both the pen and the clipboard. "Crap," he whispered. He closed his eyes, fear and confusion sweeping through him, only to be followed by embarrassment and shame. He felt the bed shift as Teyla sat down next to him and he felt Carson's warm hand on his shoulder, but neither did anything to comfort him. "Doc…" he whispered.

"It's all right son," Carson said quietly. "This doesn't surprise me."

"Then you're the only… one!" John managed through clenched teeth. "Shit, Doc, I can't write!"

"John…" Teyla started, but he wouldn't have anything to do with it.

"No, damn it! Don't tell me to be patient and I'll be fine." John's eyes snapped open. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm screwed up!"

"John." Carson's voice took on a stern note. "You took a major blow to the head. There was bound to be some… complications." Carson's grip on his shoulder tightened. "I know it's not much comfort, lad, but this could've been worse… a lot worse."

John pulled in one ragged breath, then another. "Sorry Doc," He couldn't quiet keep the sarcasm from his voice. "I'm not exactly comforted right now."

Carson's smile was grim. "No, I don't expect you are. We'll help you with this. The relearning rate of someone in your circumstance is very rapid. Take heart in that."

John felt less than reassured by Carson's words and was sure his expression showed it. "Yeah, right." He felt the bed shift as Teyla abruptly stood.

"I… I have commitments," she stammered slightly. "I will be back later, John."

Before he could say a word, she whipped the curtain aside and left. He looked over at Carson his gaze narrowing at the sympathetic look on the doctor's face. His gut instinct took over and John was sure, without a shadow of a doubt, there was something significant he couldn't remember… and they weren't telling him. Frustration wormed its way into his voice. "What the hell is going on?"

Carson's expression turned hesitant as he continued to silently stare across the infirmary.

His frustration rising, John stared harder at Carson. "Doc."

Carson sighed deeply before looking down at John. "I think the lass blames herself for what has happened to ye, although it was not her fault."

John's mind raced, adrenaline pushing aside the throbbing pain. Fortifying his resolve, he let a tone of command enter his voice. "Tell me what happened."

"John…" Carson started.

"No." John decisively cut the doctor off. "I want to know what happened. Damn it, Carson, I need to know." John's breathing increased as his gaze bore a hole through the doctor.

Carson looked away for a moment and shook his head slightly before once more meeting John's gaze. "Your team was ambushed off world. You were injured when you ran between Teyla and a grenade. You pushed her out of the way, but the force of the grenade blast knocked you down hard. Your head hit a rock and fractured your skull." Carson paused.

John swallowed hard and took a moment to absorb what the doctor had told him. "Go on," he insisted.

"You were nearly killed by the blow," Carson continued quietly. "In fact, if it wasn't for Teyla's CPR, you would've been. She kept you alive until my team could get to you."

John turned his head away from Carson and squeezed his eyes shut, the racing of his mind, doing nothing to help with his throbbing pain.

"So," Carson added, "I suspect she feels guilty."

"She shouldn't," John whispered. "I'd do that for anyone on my team and… she saved my life."

"Aye," Carson agreed, "but I suspect she needs some time to see that."

John forced his eyes opened. "Who ambushed us?" His voice was deep and held a dangerous note. He looked back at Carson.

A touch of anger infused Carson's normally kind expression. "A race known as the T'eshii."

_T'eshii…_ The word sparked an instantaneous and instinctive reaction in him. Flashes of pain, cruelty, hatred and terror shot through him and John inhaled deeply, the emotional response almost painful. His face contorted as he squeezed his eyes shut against the painful assault.

"Colonel? What is it? What's wrong?"

Carson's worried voice pulled John back to reality. He took one stuttering breath, than another as he tried to compose himself. He felt Carson's hand on his wrist.

"Your heart is racing, Colonel. What's wrong, lad? Talk to me." Carson insisted.

John forced his eyes open, his gaze meeting Carson's worried one. "I'm okay," he tried to reassure the doctor. "I just…" His brows wrinkled as he tried to find the words to explain what he had just experienced. "I… I know the T'eshii, don't I?"

Dark cynicism permeated Carson's expression. "Aye, ye could say that. They captured you and held you hostage last year."

John pushed at his memories, trying to get them to come together; to give him more than just an impression of pain and anger, but it was futile as even the emotions faded from his mind. "Tell me more," he insisted, but Carson shook his head in response.

"No. You must remember on your own, John. We'll help you, but we can't tell you everything; that won't help you at all. You have to try to remember, son, but you also have to give it time and go slow. Don't push yourself too hard," Carson pointed at him. "I mean it." Carson stood. "That's enough for now. Ye need to sleep. Can you go to sleep on your own, or do you need something to help?"

"Don't want to sleep," John muttered, his mind still occupied with everything he'd learned and experienced since he awoke. "Too much to think about."

"I'll take that as an affirmation of the latter option," Carson answered matter-of-factly. "Besides, you're as white as a sheet, lad. I don't suspect your head is feeling all that good." Carson walked around his bed and grabbed a bottle of medication. "Sleep is the best thing for you right now." He looked down at John, his expression imploring. "Please."

After a moment, John nodded slightly. "I do feel like crap," he admitted. He watched as Carson injected a syringe of medication into his IV. Seconds later, the familiar warm feeling flowed through him and succumbed to it.

--------------------------------

Ronon stopped in the doorway to the gym, crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame, the sight meeting his gaze not surprising him in the least. Across the room, Teyla was invoking a considerable amount of abuse with Bantos sticks on a practice dummy.

His gaze narrowed as he noted the sweat on her skin and the slight waver of fatigue that weakened each blow. Imperceptible to most people, Ronon still saw the hints of exhaustion as she continued her relentless assault. He pushed himself away from the doorframe and slowly walked across the gym. He grabbed a set of Bantos sticks and, giving her wide berth, walked around Teyla until he was in the line of sight for her peripheral vision. He waited as she finished a set of maneuvers, before she stopped and looked at him, her chest heaving with each fast breath.

Ronon raised his sticks. "Spar?"

She arched a cold eyebrow at him. "I do not wish to talk."

"I didn't say talk. I said spar." Ronon answered. He held his sticks in a defensive position as she turned to face him.

"Very well."

Ronon watched her lithe movements as she circled left, countering his right hand circling. He saw her stomach tense an instant before she attacked him. He deflected each of her blows, and sent a few back at her, nodding to himself in approval as she repelled them before they both stepped back, conceding a draw on the sortie.

Again, he watched her. He'd spent enough time sparring with her to get past the fact that not only was she about as good of a fighter as him, but she was also female. It'd never bothered him, he'd met enough races in the galaxy where women warriors were just as common as men, but it had taken a little getting used to as Satedan women rarely pursued the warrior's way of life. He abruptly refocused his attention as she again attacked him, her attack furious before she stepped back and circled again.

Ronon opted to stay on the defensive. This wasn't a spar to hone skills, this was something she needed, to purge some unwarranted guilt she carried… and he knew exactly what for.

"How did you find me?" She asked as she continued circling him.

"Went to the infirmary," Ronon answered. "Talked to Beckett. Figured you'd be here."

Tension stiffened her body right before she attacked, and Ronon could see it in her taut blows; each lacking the graceful aptitude he'd come to know. He parried, twisted and landed a light tap to her upper arm before dancing back away from her. "It wasn't your fault."

Teyla dropped her arms and glared at him. "Do not attempt to placate me. I should have seen it coming."

"No," Ronon hardened his tone. "You shouldn't have."

She waved a stick absently. "I have told you. I do not wish to talk."

He twirled one stick in his hand and stared hard at her. "Fine. Don't talk. Just listen. It was an ambush. No one saw it coming."

"Colonel Sheppard saw it early enough to…" her voice trailed off. "I do not wish to speak," she whispered. Her shoulders sagged and her defenses fell.

Ronon felt a twinge of sympathy as he watched the stoic warrior within Teyla, battle with the human side of her. He put both his sticks in one hand and walked over to her. Settling a strong grip on her shoulder, he hunched slightly and cocked his head, making eye contact with her. "You can't let this eat you, Teyla," he insisted softly. "I know you would've done the same for him, we all would. That's because we're a team." He tightened his grip. "You have to let it go." Without another word, Ronon stepped back and left her standing there. He knew there was nothing else he could say to convince her and he knew if he was in her situation, he'd want to be alone. Returning the sticks to the equipment bin, Ronon silently left the gym.


	4. Chapter 4

_I am so very sorry it's taken me so long to update! I had several RL issues pile up on me all at once (The bright spot was the Vancouver Stargate convention.. SQUEEE! ) including losing my job, getting a new one, getting sick and fighting a nasty sinus infection. Good grief, it never rains but pours… ;) _

_Anyway, here's an update, I'm going to try my best to update regularly again:D Enjoy! _

It was irrational… and it annoyed the hell out of him.

Rodney ground his teeth and started harder at the data pad as if, somehow, his intense gaze could drive the distractions from his head and let him concentrate. _Fat chance!_ Rodney sighed and found himself looking over his shoulder and down the short hallway towards Atlantis' infirmary. _Damn it, Sheppard! You're a pain in the ass even when you're not trying to be!_ Worry diffused Rodney's irritation; more worry than he'd ever admit to anyone and to his surprise, more worry than he'd even admit to himself. Three years of the colonel's life were missing; three years of hell, heaven and everything in between. _Three years of…_

_Friendship._

Alone, Rodney let his defensive mask fall as worry and pain creased his brow.

His constant companion, science had been his best friend as long as he could remember. He didn't do well with people, mostly because he had little tolerance for most people's unending stupidity. But somehow the quirky Air Force officer had grown on him. Sometimes, Sheppard was like a rash he couldn't itch, but Rodney had to admit that most of the time, he found himself liking Sheppard's company; in an annoying, smartass and often infuriating way.

Deep inside, Rodney cherished the last three years, in spite of more near death experiences than he cared to admit. Oddly enough, in Sheppard he'd found one hell of a loyal friend; and in Rodney's life, he'd had precious few of those.

"Of all the people…" Rodney muttered. Even now, he still wondered how Sheppard, of all people, would fill that role. Not religious in any way, Rodney still found himself wondering sometimes about God's sense of humor.

His thoughts came full circle. He loathed losing the last three years and he had to admit, part of what drove him was pure selfishness. He wanted Sheppard back, not only for the Colonel's good, but for his as well.

Like a bad horror movie, the events of their last off-world mission still plagued Rodney. Silently, he was grateful of his reputation for functioning with little or no sleep; no one noticed the long hours he spent in his lab, if only to keep from being woken by nightmares of loud explosions, gunfire… blood…

_"Oh excuse me for not being an aficionado of the man!" Rodney snapped as he glared at the back of Sheppard's head and stalked through the short grass._

_"Aficionado or not, I can't believe you've never heard any of his music!" John looked over his shoulder and graced Rodney with a disbelieving look. "The man is an icon. Hell, the man is THE icon!" _

_Rodney stopped his shoulders sagging as his irritation redoubled. "Just because I don't **listen** to his music, doesn't mean I haven't heard his stuff! Yet, somehow, I can't seem to accept that in all of musical history, Johnny Cash is the ultimate icon, although I can't imagine why. After all, you're only comparing him to musicians like Bach, Beethoven, Mozart…" His voice trailed off as Sheppard glared coldly at him._

_"I've never heard of him," Ronon interjected._

_"Nor have I," Teyla added._

_"You two are from a different **galaxy**," John answered never looking away from Rodney. "What's your excuse, McKay?"_

_"I suppose if I answer with 'I prefer real music,' I'll get shot?" Rodney snapped._

_John's gaze narrowed in dark humor. "Definitely." _

_"Right," Rodney sighed. He glanced down at his life signs detector, his gaze widening slightly. "Hello…"_

_"What?" Sheppard immediately answered and Rodney could hear the Colonel's footsteps move closer. _

_Rodney looked up. The colonel's face was devoid of any humor. "Two life signs, coming our direction." _

"Rodney?"

Rodney flinched and barely kept from dropping his data pad as Carson's voice startled him from his memories. "What?" He snapped. He turned and glared at the doctor.

Carson's expression was slightly concerned as he took one step towards Rodney. "You seemed a million miles away," he answered quietly. "Are ye all right?"

"Fine," Rodney immediately answered as he turned away, hopefully hiding the slight red tinge he could feel on his checks. "Just thinking." He waved a hand behind him and absently at Carson. "Shouldn't you be doing something for Sheppard?"

"Like what?" Carson answered quietly.

Rodney's shoulders sagged. "I don't know! I'm not the medical voodoo man here! That's your department." Rodney scrutinized the control panel on the scanner for a minute before tapping a control key, all the while pretending not to hear Carson's slightly frustrated sigh.

"Colonel Sheppard is sleeping right now. Probably the best thing for him at this stage."

Rodney turned around as the silence between them lingered. Holding onto his defensive mask, Rodney none the less narrowed his gaze slightly at the hints of frustration that marked Carson's expression. "Sleeping. Huh."

"Aye." Carson pursed his lips. "Any recovery is going to be slow going, Rodney. I won't lie to ye. It'll be a long time before he's anywhere near being the man we knew."

"Is he even…" Rodney caught himself and bit off the rest of his question. He looked away from Carson's intense gaze. After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"He's still John Sheppard." Carson reassured quietly.

Rodney slowly looked up. Understanding and even what he'd call wisdom radiated in Carson's expression.

"Just be his friend, Rodney… and he'll still be yours."

Rodney was silent for a moment; knowing that his mask had fallen, knowing that Carson saw his vulnerabilities… and for an instant, he didn't care.

Hastily he cleared his throat and backed away from Carson's hand. "Yes, well, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather NOT have to break Sheppard in again, so if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Rodney turned back to the scanner.

"Made any progress?" Carson asked.

Rodney sighed. "Considering I just got started, no, but I **will** figure this out."

"Rodney, we don't know for sure the scanner does anything more than scan a patient," Carson replied.

Rodney glared at his data pad as if he was daring it to defy him. "Carson, we've seen the references in the database about devices like this having healing technology. You of all people should recognize how far advanced the Ancient's medical knowledge and technology was."

Carson walked up next to him and stared down at the scanner. "None of that proves that this device," he tapped the casket-like cover gently, "has any other function besides as a scanner."

"It does." Rodney's reply was short. He plastered a determined and confident look on his face and looked at Carson. He held onto his confidence as Carson's expression turned placating, with a touch of resigned agreement.

"Aye. I'll leave you to it then."

Rodney returned his attention to his data pad as he heard Carson walk away. Rationally, he knew Carson had a point; they didn't know, not for sure, that this scanner had any healing properties at all. Yet, somehow, Rodney had convinced himself that it did… and somehow he just **knew** he was right. He shook his head at the irony of it all.

Science was his life. The ins and outs of theories and facts and the thirst for knowledge had driven him as long as he could remember. Follow the facts to the logical conclusion. His life was based on that. Yet, as he stared at the Ancient device, he realized it was his gut, more than anything that was driving him. His theory was sound. There were just too many vague hints and scraps of information in the massive Ancient database about scanning and healing for him to just dismiss it as coincidence, but all he had at this point was his gut. _Sheppard's rubbing off on me…_

Rodney sighed and carefully set his data pad on the dome shaped cover of the scanner and walked down the short hallway towards the infirmary ward. He stopped in the doorway and stared at the curtain covered corner where Sheppard was resting in privacy. He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. What would he say? Sheppard wouldn't know him, Rodney knew that for certain. What do you talk about with a man who can't remember you or anything from the last three years of his life, which just happened to be the entire duration of your friendship with him? _I really suck at this personal crap…_ Rodney sighed again. He took small consolation in the fact that Sheppard was probably sleeping; in which case, he wouldn't have to worry about saying a word. The thought gave him courage and he crossed the infirmary.

He stopped again as he reached the curtain. Taking a deep breath he slowly pulled the curtain back and stepped into the secluded area. His eyes never left Sheppard as he pulled the curtain closed behind him. A thick bandage swathed the colonel's head and he was unsettlingly still. Rodney's eyes unconsciously found Sheppard's chest and he watched for a moment, comforted by the slow rise and fall of the Colonel's breathing. The steady beep of the monitor over Sheppard's head could've told Rodney as much, but somehow he found reassurance in seeing, for himself, the life in his friend's body.

He slowly walked up to the bed and stared down at Sheppard's sleeping form. "Always the hero," he muttered. How many times had Sheppard pulled their asses from the fire? He'd saved them from everything from an insane Genii commander to a microscopic nanovirus. Rodney's gaze narrowed in determination. This time, the hero needed saving, and he'd be damned if he'd let Sheppard down.

--------------------------

_John held tightly to the stick, forcing the copter to comply; to side with him in what felt like a battle of wills he fought with the shearing winds. His grip tightened when a strong gust blasted them and the copter dipped and he swallowed hard, feeling like he was pushing his stomach back down his throat. _

_"You sure this was a good idea?" Edwards asked, his voice tinged with dark humor. _

_From the corner of his eye, John could see Edward's grip on the edge of his control panel. In spite of the gloves, John had no doubt the lieutenant's hold was white knuckled to say the least. "Sounded like a good idea at the time," John answered tensely. _

_"And now?" _

_John abruptly grabbed the stick with both hands as a particularly nasty crosswind buffeted the chopper. "Ask me that later." He barely heard Edward's quiet snort. His gaze narrowed as he tried in vain to see through the near white out conditions, only made worse by the growing darkness. "Damn the days are short," he muttered. _

_"Give it a month and we won't have any daylight at all," Edwards answered. "You sure we're on their flight path?" _

_John grimaced before answering. "Sure," his voice cracked slightly. _

_"You're not giving me any confidence, buddy," Edwards muttered. "Are we even close?" _

_"Close?" John wrestled the stick again. "Define… close." _

_"Great," Edwards muttered. "How far off are we?"_

"Define far," John answered quietly. 

_"Aw, hell!"_

John could feel Edward's glare on the side of his face, but he refused to look at the lieutenant as he fought darkly amused smile. If they weren't in danger of dying in this god forsaken storm, the situation he found himself in might have actually been funny. "Anything?" John risked a glance at his cohort in insanity and waved his hand briefly at the console. 

_Edwards tapped a couple buttons on the console. "Maybe…" His voice trailed off in a whoop of joy. _

_Caught off guard, John flinched before refocusing his attention on keeping them from getting killed. "That's a yes?"_

"Hot damn!" Edward clapped once, his hands muffled by gloves. "It's their locator beacon! Coordinates coming your way." 

_This time, the smile that tugged at John's mouth had nothing to do with dark cynicism and he let the grin into his expression. He adjusted his heading and continued looking around, searching for the downed helicopter. _

_"Not that I mean to be a killjoy," Edwards said quietly as he too searched, "but they've been out here for a long time. If they were injured badly…" his voice trailed off. _

_"They're alive," John said with more confidence then the situation warranted. _

_"Right." _

_John glanced at his friend as they each exchanged knowing looks, though neither one of them said a word. He looked away, his eyes widening. "There!" he pointed, as a dark mound suddenly appeared through the driving snow. He slapped the radio button. "Flight 2-1 this is Flight 6 do you copy?" Tensely, John watched as the undistinguishable mound turned into the wreckage of a helicopter as he flew closer. "Captain Stiles this is Major Sheppard. Respond." He shook his head. "Damn it." _

_"Their radio could just be down," Edwards offered. A low whistle escaped him as he shook his head at the wreckage. "Took a hell of a beating…" _

_"Yeah," John muttered. He switched radio frequencies. "McMurdo base, this is flight 6. We've located flight 2-1. Repeat. We've located flight 2-1." Through the static he could just barely make out a reply. _

_"…Sheppard…where… alive?" _

_John glanced at Edwards who shook his head slightly. _

_"Is that Hays?" _

_John nodded. Part of him was surprised the Colonel was right there waiting to hear from them, but a larger part of him wasn't. "Gonna set down as close as we can. Hold on, this is going to be rough." _

---------------------------

At first Rodney didn't really notice. It was just a glimmer of movement; a hint of consciousness; nothing definite, nothing showing that Sheppard was waking up. But, it didn't last. "Colonel?" Rodney stepped closer to the bed as Sheppard moved weakly.

"Hold on…" Sheppard's mutter was barely above a whisper. "Rough…"

Rodney swallowed hard and looked around uncertainly, "why me?" His voice was tinged with the worry he felt.

"Okay… alive… have to be…" Sheppard's body tensed as his head moved back and forth on the pillow.

Rodney turned and whipped back the curtain, looking for someone to help. His eyes scanned the empty infirmary. "Oh, that's just great. Where is everyone?" he muttered before raising his voice. "Hello? Need some help here." He turned back to the bed and took a deep breath, before gently squeezing Sheppard's shoulder. "Colonel, wake up. Colonel."

Sheppard's eyes snapped open and his body tensed as he pulled in a sharp breath.

Rodney snatched his hand back and stared at the blank look in the Colonel's eyes.

Sheppard's eyelids slid shut as his brow pinched and he grimaced.

"Are you okay?" Rodney edged closer to the colonel's bed. "Do you need Carson?"

"No… 'm okay," Sheppard muttered before he opened his eyes.

It was all Rodney could do not to flinch or look away as he stared into confused hazel eyes that met his. Gone was the recognition, the familiarity… the friendship that he'd grown so accustomed to. He hastily cleared his throat. "Rodney McKay. Dr. Rodney McKay."

Sheppard licked his lips and looked away. "I should know you, shouldn't I?" While his words were a question, his tone of voice wasn't. "You were here when I woke up…"

Rodney fidgeted and absently scratched his chest. "Yes, well… yes. We were… are friends." He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, as Sheppard continued to look away. The silence was uncomfortable and Rodney searched for a way to break it. A small voice inside urged him to just turn and leave, but refused to consider it. "Look uh…" Rodney grimaced and scratched his head. "I know you don't remember me and that's well… you know, okay." He fell silent and forced his fidgeting body to stillness as Sheppard carefully turned his head and looked at him.

Slowly, a smile gradually turned up the corners of Sheppard's mouth, if only slightly. "Thanks," he whispered.

Rodney didn't know what to say. Faced with the gratitude he saw in Sheppard's face, words escaped him. Instead, he returned Sheppard's smile with a genuine one of his own.

"Everything all right in here?"

For the second time that afternoon, Carson's voice startled Rodney. _Going to get him a cowbell!_ "Fine!" Rodney snapped, with a bit more edge than he intended, "do you **practice** sneaking up on people and scaring the living daylights out of them?"

"It's a talent," Carson quipped as he walked up to Sheppard's bed. "You **did** call for some help."

"Oh yes," Rodney answered, "and in your own impeccable timing, you're, of course, late so I handled things myself."

If Carson had a reply, he chose not to voice it. Instead he smiled at Sheppard. "How are you feeling, Colonel?"

"Tired," Sheppard answered. "Am I going to sleep my life away?"

Carson chuckled. "For now, yes. You've got a lot of healing to do."

Rodney's gaze narrowed as a dark shadow flashed over Sheppard's face.

"Yeah," Sheppard whispered. "Lots of healing…"

Carson's expression turned understanding as he stepped back and looked at Rodney. "Don't stay long. Colonel Sheppard needs his rest." Passing Rodney, Carson pulled the curtain shut behind him.

Not able to contain his fidgeting, Rodney looked everywhere in the makeshift room, except at Sheppard. The silence between them lingered before Sheppard broke it.

"You don't have to stay."

Sheppard's quiet offer snapped Rodney from his selfish discomfort. He was Sheppard's friend, damn it, he needed to start acting like it! He looked directly at the colonel. "I uh… oh, that's okay, I could use a break really." He backed up a step and sat down in the chair next to Sheppard's bed. He watched as the colonel looked down at his blanket and absently fingered the seam.

"We're friends, aren't we?" Sheppard asked softly.

Rodney sighed. "You could say that, yes. Although sometimes you infuriate the hell out of me…" his voice trailed off, but he found it again when Sheppard smiled slightly. "But then again, I know you've wanted to shoot me more than once, so I guess we're even. So, friends? Uhh… yeah, I think."

Sheppard's smile lingered. "Sounds like my kind of friendship. Keeps things interesting."

"Yeah, well sometimes I think I'm just a glutton for punishment," Rodney answered. He squinted slightly as Sheppard arched an amused brow at him and, for a moment, Rodney saw the Sheppard he knew peeking out from behind the mask of uncertain confusion the colonel silently wore. As quick as it appeared, the normalcy was gone.

"Wish I remembered," Sheppard whispered.

"You will." The words left Rodney's mouth before he even had a chance to think, but he contained his surprise and held onto the confident air that seemed to follow his statement. After a moment, he slapped his thighs and stood. "Well, it's not my idea of fun to endure a Carson Beckett lecture, so I'll leave you to rest. Besides, I have work to do."

"Right."

Rodney heard the resigned tone in Sheppard's voice and bit back his own frustration. He knew the Colonel chafed at the inactivity, at being so weak and most of all at not remembering so much of his recent life. The frustration within Rodney grew as his thoughts refocused on the Ancient scanner. "Look uh, I'll come back later," Rodney found a small smile.

"Sure." Sheppard closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Rodney resisted the urge to whip the curtain shut behind him. He stalked across the infirmary and headed back towards his work. There had to be a way to help Sheppard and he, Rodney McKay, would find it.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry for the long wait! It seems my life is a bit chaotic these days. ;) Hope you like the chapter:)_

_------------------------------- _

Peace eluded her.

Teyla pulled in one deep breath through her nose before letting it quietly escape through her lips. She repeated the process, willing her body to relax, her mind to clear… her spirit to find peace. But, even as she tried, she knew peace was beyond her reach. It had been since the day John Sheppard nearly died…

… saving her.

Teyla's head dropped and she folded her hands on her lap. She stared at her crossed legs, barely visible in the amber candlelight as a loud sigh escaped her. Unbidden, the memories came back to her, memories she couldn't chase away.

_Her grip tightened on the P-90 as all humor faded from John's face._

"_Two life signs?" John glanced at Rodney before turning a wary eye to the thick woods. "Where?" _

_Teyla turned, scanning the surrounding landscape. "I see nothing…"_

"_Teyla! Look out!" _

_She whirled around as John's warning reached her ears, only to find herself sprawling to the ground under the force of his weight just as a loud explosion deafened her. _

She hit the ground hard, but rolled away, her fast recovery spurred by gunfire. Coming up in a crouch she fired, her shots following Ronon's. It was over quickly as the two T'eshii were dead before they hit the ground. It was at that moment she realized that only she and Ronon had been shooting. Turning, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at John's crumpled and limp form. "Colonel!"

Teyla opened her eyes, her vision blurred by tears. If she'd only seen the grenade, if she'd only turned back sooner… if she'd never turned away in the first place.

The rest was a blur to her. Blood; on her hands, flowing freely from his head, smeared across the rock that had injured him… soaking the ground under him.

Ronon, running for the gate.

Rodney strangely silent.

The feel of John's mouth on hers as she forced life back into him; his ribs cracking under her hands as she refused to let him die without a fight…

The desperate break in her voice as she shouted for Carson…

The vacant and confused look in John's eyes the first time he awoke in the infirmary.

The peace she found from meditation had never been close to her tonight, but at this moment, all hopes of its healing powers fled from her.

Teyla wept silently.

------------------------------------

Elizabeth's stride was hesitant as she slowly walked down the long corridors of Atlantis. Tucked neatly under her arm and cradled in her hand two soft covered books brushed absently against her hip with each step she took.

She leaned forward in her char and stared at Carson from across her desk. "I want to help him, Carson." Elizabeth slightly arched her brow at the doctor.

_After a moment, an understanding smile faintly lit Carson's face. "Aye, I suspected you would. That's why I stopped by and talked to Dr. Anella." He tapped two books he'd set on the edge of her desk. "She gave me these." _

_Elizabeth looked down. "Primary writers?"_

"_Aye," Carson nodded. "Some of the Athosian children are learning in classes on the mainland instead of only apprenticing out to other craftsmen in the settlement. A trial project. Teyla's idea. We had these shipped from Earth." _

"_Oh yes," Elizabeth nodded, remembering the requisition. She sighed. "He's not going to like this." _

"_Aye," Carson agreed, "but the truth is, he needs to relearn to write from the beginning. Relearning in cases like this goes much faster than initial learning, but he still has to start from scratch. The damaged part of his brain has to be retrained." _

Elizabeth's other hand tightened around two pencils she carried. Amnesia or not, John Sheppard could be stubborn and a bit prideful if he put his mind to it, but, she suspected, this time it would be more embarrassment and shame than anything else. That's why she had to do this and no one else. Not because she was a diplomat, but because as the leaders of Atlantis, her and John had been through a great deal together. And, while he didn't remember any of it, that bond was still there. Of that, she was sure.

------------------------------------

"_Shit! That's cold!" _

_In spite of the layers of thick clothes John winced, as the Antarctic air seemed to pierce any protection he had. Behind the mask that covered his face, he bit his lip and nodded, silently agreeing with Edward's exclamation. The swirling snow was blinding, even with thick goggles protecting his eyes. John squinted as he barely made out the snow-covered form of the wrecked chopper. Pushing through the drifts of snow that surrounded him, John tugged at Edward's coat sleeve. "Come on." _

_Holding tightly to the side of the chopper and fighting the wind that battered them, John and Edwards made their way around the back of the chopper to the large, side door, still firmly shut. John firmly tugged on the handle. "Frozen. Give me a hand here."_

"_You expected this to be easy?" Edwards quipped darkly as he added his strength to John's. _

"_Sure, but I'm the optimistic type," John answered absently. Again, he threw his weight into the door and this time, with Edwards' added strength the door slowly creaked open, yielding them just enough room to squeeze in. _

_John all but ripped a flashlight from one of his parka's pockets. Holding it beside his head, he scanned the interior of the copter. "Stiles? Any of you guys hear me? It's Sheppard." John wormed his way into the chopper and panned his light across several bodies. He hastily pulled his goggles down around his neck and pulled the protective mask off over his head. "Come on, guys, talk to me," he urged as he made his way towards the nearest body. He stopped mid-crouch as frozen, lifeless eyes stared back at him. "Damn." He panned his light slowly in a circle around him. It vaguely reminded him of some nightmarish haunted house as his light encountered one frozen and lifeless body after another. He paused as Edwards turned away from the cockpit. "Stiles and Harris?"_

_Edwards just stared back. _

_Even though John could only see his friend's eyes, he still knew exactly what the lieutenant was saying to him and the dog tags that reflected the light from John's flashlight only confirmed it. _

_John turned towards the rear of the chopper, a quiet moan catching his attention._

"_They're dead," Edwards said quietly._

"_Shh!" John waved at the lieutenant, "I heard something." John stepped over one of the dead crewmen and made his way to the rear of the chopper. He wasn't sure if it was the wind or… "Talk to me, airman!" He put as much authority in his voice as he could. _

"_Shep, it's the wind…"  
_

"_Shut up!" John snapped as he knelt next to a lone body, huddled against the wall and haphazardly covered in extra blankets. His jaw dropped as two glossy, but alive eyes looked back at him. "Wind hell!" John knelt and put his hand on the airman's shoulder. "Edwards! Martinez is alive, get your ass back here!" _

John's eyes burned and his memories faded as he forced one blink then another to wet his eyes. He pulled in a deep breath and turned away from the daydream and back to the present. The cold chill of the Antarctic air and the even colder chill of lifeless eyes, faded from his memory. It was so clear to him, so clear in his memory. He looked around, his gaze passing over alien architecture, intermixed with the familiar equipment of any military infirmary. Why couldn't he remember this?

John looked up, movement catching his attention, and watched Elizabeth walk towards him. The small, hesitant smile that found him matched his feelings perfectly. No matter how much she, or any one else tried to hide it, there was still a level of familiarity; more so in some than others, that he didn't… couldn't share and every time he saw any of them, it only reminded him of what he'd lost. She must've seen his hesitation, because the impartial mask on her face strengthened.

John's eyes fell to her hands, which carried two soft backed books, a thick tablet and a couple pencils. His eyes narrowed slightly as she stopped next to his bed. He looked up and again met her gaze. "Hi."

She smiled. "Hi. How are you feeling?"

John sighed quietly. "I'd be lying if I said fine, but… better."

Her smiled warmed slightly as understanding radiated in her eyes. Without words, John knew she knew that he spoke of more than just his physical wellness.

She slowly sat in the chair next to his bed and set the books beside him. "I brought you these."

He looked down, his brow wrinkling as he stared at the primary school writers. The last time he'd seen anything like this, he'd been a kid, just learning how to write. He clenched his jaw as he felt the redness of embarrassment creeping up his neck and tingeing his ears. His unfocused stare centered on the books and he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Hey," Elizabeth's voice was soft and reassuring, "there's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Like hell," John muttered. "It's a first grade writer." A touch of confusion found him as he pulled on his now limited knowledge of Atlantis. "Where…"

"We're assisting with the schooling of some of the Athosian children," she answered. "Not much, as they seem to do well on their own, but Teyla wanted them to learn some of our ways."

John looked sideways as a pencil appeared in his peripheral vision. He finally found the courage to once again look up at her, and took strength from the warm and understanding look she gave him. Slowly, he took the pencil from her and opened the book. He stared at the first page and the large, bold "A" and "a" that dominated it. Pressing the pencil into the page, his concentrated gaze bore a hole through it as he slowly scribbled across the page, but what he knew how to do ended up being far from what his hand actually did. "Damn it," he cussed quietly, but emphatically as he stared at the messy twist of lines that only vaguely resembled an A.

"John…"

"No," he interrupted hotly, "I know how to do this. I.. I know, but I… can't." A heavy stillness hung between them for a moment before Elizabeth broke it.

"Here," she said quietly, "let me help."

John sucked in a deep breath as her warm, gentle hand closed over his. Slowly, she guided his hand across the paper.

"You didn't expect to master this first try, did you?" She admonished lightly. "Carson says you'll learn a lot faster, but not _that_ fast."

John moved his hand to the next line, keenly aware that her hand followed his, and started the exercise again. "You can't tell me you don't have more important things to be doing than this," he muttered.

"As a matter of fact," she answered as she loosened her grip slightly, giving him more control, "I can't think of anything more worth my time than this."

He paused at the end of the line and looked up at her. "You don't have to…"

She tightened her grip and moved his hand to the next line. "I know."

John fell silent as he concentrated on his exercises, but he couldn't stop the faint smile that tugged at his mouth. Somehow, he felt that of all the people that could be doing this, she was the right one; the one that he'd be the most comfortable with. After a page and a half of her guiding him, she silently let go and watched as he slowly formed letters of his own. They were rough and uneven around the edges, but, he had to admit, they looked better than his first try.

He looked questioningly at her as she gently took the pencil from his hand.

"That's enough for today. Carson's orders. Only an hour at a time." She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs before folding her hands on her lap. Her smile was faint as she looked at him. "You do look better every time I see you," she said quietly.

John looked away. "Don't look like the living dead anymore?" he quipped lightly.

Elizabeth chortled quietly. "No."

Her deep sigh recaptured his attention and he watched all humor fade from her expression.

"You gave us a… a scare," her voice trailed off as if the words she uttered, were inadequate.

John bit his lip, unsure what to say. "Sorry," he muttered.

A slightly flustered smile flashed across her face. "No, don't be. I just…," she sighed again, "no matter what may be wrong or might happen, I'm incredibly relieved to just see you alive and… there." Her brows furrowed slightly.

John swallowed hard and thought about her words. He'd spent so much time cursing his injury and what he couldn't do or remember, that he'd never really considered how lucky he was not only to be alive, but also to not be a human vegetable. The silence between them stretched and lingered, before he shifted slightly in his bed. "Well," he attempted some light humor, "not really **all** there…" His slight smile to her was cynical

A look of determination replaced the vulnerable one on her face. "That will come," she said, her quiet voice strong and unwavering.

"Yeah." John couldn't quiet keep the hesitation from her voice. He pursed his lips. "We… we've worked pretty closely for a while, haven't we?"

Elizabeth's smile was bittersweet. "Yes," she answered softly. "We've been through a lot in the last couple years." Her gaze narrowed slightly. "Why do you ask?"

John sighed. "I don't know," he admitted, "it just… it feels that way."

"Dr. Weir, to the control room."

John looked up as the hail came over the Ancient citywide system.

Elizabeth sighed. "Duty calls." She tapped her headset. "This is Weir, I'm on my way." She stood and smiled down at him. "I'll be back later. We can talk more then. Get some rest."

John smiled slightly and settled his head back in the pillow. "Yes, ma'am," he answered. He held his smile as she took a moment to chuckle quietly before she turned and left the infirmary.

--------------------------------------

Elizabeth stopped next to one of the main Ancient control panels and nodded at the technician minding them. "What is it, Chuck?"

Chuck's smile was grim. "Daedalus. Colonel Caldwell calling for you."

Elizabeth frowned in confusion. "They left for Earth three days ago." _How could they still be in radio contact, unless…_

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck confirmed.

"They turned back," Elizabeth muttered.

"Looks that way, ma'am," Chuck answered.

Elizabeth sighed. Deep inside she knew her report to the IOA, in which she was obliged to include a status on Colonel Sheppard, would make it's way into the hands of the military, she had just hoped for more time. "Thank you, Chuck. I'll take the call in my office." She barely caught Chuck's nod as she turned away and crossed the short bridge to her office. Sitting down behind her desk she tapped her radio call button and folded her hands on the smooth surface. "Colonel Caldwell, this is Weir. I'm surprised to hear from you so soon."

"Dr. Weir," Caldwell's voice responded immediately, "given Colonel Sheppard's… condition, my superiors felt it best that I return to Atlantis immediately. We're in orbit, I'd like to beam down."

_Orbit?_ Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. "Yes of course," she answered. She looked up as the bright transporter beam appeared in her office and quickly faded, leaving the straight form of Colonel Steven Caldwell in its wake. Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, trying to read anything in his impassive mask. There was a lot of water under the bridge between them, since he'd made his bid to take command of Atlantis over a year ago, but she nonetheless felt wary. "Colonel, welcome back to Atlantis."

Caldwell nodded slightly. "Thank you Doctor. I was sorry to hear what happened to Colonel Sheppard. Given the circumstances, I'm sure you can understand why I returned so quickly."

Elizabeth sighed. With John injured and Caldwell gone, Major Lorne had been running the military presence in Atlantis, and doing a fine job. But, Elizabeth knew how the brass felt about majors acting as military CO's of such an important, strategic outpost. "I'll have Major Lorne brief you as soon as you're ready."

"Thank you." Caldwell turned towards the door, only to stop and look back at her. "Dr. Weir, you should know that given Colonel Sheppard's particular injuries, my superiors feel he's no longer fit for command and are pushing to have him relieved. They want to place me in command of Atlantis' military contingent."

Elizabeth couldn't keep the anger from her eyes. "It's too early to be jumping to that conclusion, Colonel."

Caldwell's gaze narrowed. "The IOA doesn't think so. They're concerned with a compromising gap in the chain of command and military security of this base."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, her voice turning cynical. "And you're the perfect person to step in."

Caldwell looked away for a moment before bowing his head. "Dr. Weir…"

Elizabeth was slightly taken aback at the sincere expression on his face when he finally looked up.

"I know we've had our differences, and I'll admit at first I wasn't convinced of Sheppard's ability to be the CO here. Now?" He shrugged and a dark, challenging smile pulled at one side of his mouth, "maybe." Caldwell took a step closer to her desk. "But off the record, I agree with you." He sighed deeply. "Right now, this job is temporary and I'll work to keep it that way until the day **I** believe Sheppard is no longer able to effectively command this base."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment as Caldwell's unexpected words sank in. She softened her gaze. "I appreciate that, Steven," she said quietly, "but neither you nor I may have any say in it." She met his direct gaze with a serious one of her own.

Caldwell nodded slightly. "I know." He stared at her for a moment longer, before he turned and quietly left.

Elizabeth watched him go. She slowly leaned back in her chair, her mood turning dark and brooding. This was just going from bad to worse.

---------------------------------

"Easy now, son. Nice and slow."

John could feel his knees shaking as he eased off the bed and onto his feet. Carson's gentle voice accompanied his firm grip as he faced John, helping him to stand. Part of John was surprised he was so weak, but guessed it made sense. A wave of dizziness swept over him and his fingers tightened on Carson's forearm.

"You all right, lad?" Carson reinforced his support and his grip tightened.

"Yeah," John whispered, "gotta do this."

"Aye," Carson sighed, "your muscles could use it, but we're not pushing our luck, Colonel, just a short walk then back to bed with ye."

John's gaze fixed on the floor as he straightened, standing, albeit wobbly, on his own two feet. He took one shaky step, then another. A sudden, second grip on his other arm grabbed his attention and he looked up.

"Hey." Ronon smiled slightly.

In the last week since he'd woke, John had gained some comfort around those he knew were supposed to be his friends. Ronon was no different. In fact, John found himself more relaxed around the big man than most other people. Ronon was content to sit with him, silent, and just be there. Not expect anything from him, nor be uncomfortable when he couldn't give it. It was that way with most of "his team"; the ones he knew had been the closest to him in the last three years of his life that he'd lost. McKay was the worst, fidgeting and rambling, but the more John had watched him, the more he'd realized that most of what he saw on the surface with Rodney was a front. But, with Ronon, John found a renewed friendship, one he could sow from scratch. There was slight warmth to Ronon's otherwise neutral expression as he gripped John's elbow.

John took another step and looked ahead, ready to cross the room. His gaze fell on the crash cart, sitting off to his left and John froze, his mind reeling.

_Pain… his neck… his own voice shouting an order to a wide-eyed and hesitant young man under his command. "Do it!"_

_Pain._

_Darkness…_

"Colonel?"

John took a deep breath, composing himself in the face of Carson's worried tone. "I'm okay, I'm…" He squinted while, as quick as the scrap of memory had returned to him, it faded, leaving him confused and flooded with adrenaline, the reason for which, he had no idea. "I was… defibbed?" The look of sheer surprise on Carson's face affirmed his statement more than anything the doctor could've said.

"Aye! You remember?"

John swallowed. He chewed on his lower lip tentatively as the memory faded behind the heavy shroud of his memory loss. "It was something… I was awake." Puzzled, John's brows knitted. He shook his head slightly. "It's gone now."

"'Tis okay, lad," Carson immediately reassured, "don't push it. I know you're pretty frustrated, but believe me, that is a good sign."

John looked away from the crash cart and nodded slightly, trying to push away his irritation. "I think we were… walking?" he ventured.

"Aye," Carson answered, "easy now."

John took a step, before arching an eyebrow at Ronon. "Don't have anything better to be doing?"

Ronon's expression turned bemused. "Nope."

John couldn't help the smile that tugged at his face. "Right." He took another step, encouraged, as he felt slightly stronger. It felt good to be walking again, using the muscles that had been cramping over the last week. He took another step, then another.

"Slowly, Colonel," Carson pulled back a bit on his arm, "You're not running a bloody marathon."

John turned and started the trek back to his bed. "It feels good Carson," he complained and tried to speed up once again.

"Aye! I'm sure it does," Carson resisted John's impatient pull, "but you're not overdoing it. Doctor's orders!"

"I'm just walking," John protested, "how the hell can I over do it?"

"Very easily!" Carson sounded slightly exasperated, "my god, man, you suffered serious injury."

John felt Ronon's grip tighten and he glanced at the big man. "You too?"

"Don't want to carry you back to bed," Ronon answered.

John grimaced in annoyance and slowed his pace.

"'Tis good to see some fire in your belly again, son," Carson steadied John as he slowly sat down on his bed. "No matter how exasperating it is."

Fatigue washed over John but he managed to send an annoyed look Carson's direction as he eased his head down on the pillow. "Funny," he muttered as his eyelids fell shut and he succumbed to exhaustion.


	6. Chapter 6

_Another chapter… finally! Honestly, this is the first time I've ever taken so long to update a current story. I'm so sorry for the delays. I started this story right before losing my job and got caught up in job hunting, getting a new job, getting settled into that job, and VancouverCon in March (which was a blast)_

_Job has changed my life. I'm very busy with it and am going through a period of adjustment to work out when I can write, which I have no intention of giving up:D_

_Anyway…. New chapter! Hope you enjoy it and thanks for the reviews and support:)_

_My thanks to Josie for giving the chapter a look-see and once over with a fresh perspective. Thank you:D_

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_"McMurdo, this is flight six. We're inbound with a medical emergency. Please respond!" John fought to keep control of the stick as relentless, sheer winds pounded the chopper. "McMurdo! Respond!" John braced his feet as a strong gust jarred the helicopter._

"_Less bumps would be better," Edwards warned. _

_John risked a look over his shoulder at Edwards, knelt intently over Martinez. "Doin' my best." _

"_Sheppard… Stiles… back…?"_

_John shook his head at the static filled reply, but he still recognized the voice of his CO. "Colonel, you're breaking up. We're inbound with Lieutenant Martinez in critical condition. ETA 10 minutes."_

"_Sheppard… about… others…?"_

_John pursed his lips for a moment, fighting the frustrated anger within him. 'Damn I hate losing men…' "Negative, sir." _

"_Sheppard… copy?"_

"_Damn it," Edwards cussed softly but intensely. "He's got severe frostbite. I don't think they're going to be able to save his foot." _

_John pushed away the frustration he felt at the news. "Just keep him alive, we're almost there." He brought his left hand up to reinforce his right hand and pushed the chopper for more speed… well beyond the recommended parameters for these conditions. Not that rules ever stopped him before. 'Hell, the recommended parameters for these conditions is to land the damn thing and stay grounded…' _

"_Aw damn it! Cardiac arrest!" Edwards shouted._

_He pushed the chopper harder…_

"John?"

John pulled in a deep breath and slowly turned his head. He found a small smile for Elizabeth who stood just inside the privacy curtain.

She held up a book. "Came for your writing lesson." Elizabeth walked further in and stopped. She silently regarded him with a friendly but tense gaze. "You're looking better every day, John."

John subconsciously touched the light bandage on his head and scratched the short but growing hair on his crown. A fleeting thought about how much he hated buzz cuts and how he couldn't wait for his hair to grow out again, dashed across his mind before he narrowed his gaze slightly at the tense lines he saw on her face and the touch of worry in her eyes. In spite of the month that had passed since his injury, he still saw worry in her every time she visited him. But this time there was something more. He waited a long moment before speaking. "I am getting better you know."

Her smile widened slightly. "Yes you are. Carson tells me he has to keep you on a firm rein during your walks these days. That's the John Sheppard I know…" her voice trailed off and she looked away. "Sorry."

John took a deep breath. "It's okay." He reached up and lightly tapped his temple. "He's in there, somewhere."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Right." She walked up to his bed and sat down in the chair next to him before opening the writing book, which she handed to him, along with a pencil.

John took them and arched an eyebrow at her. "I still don't believe that you don't have better things to be doing."

She leveled a determined gaze at him. "I don't. Right now, nothing is more important then you getting better, John." She drew in a deep breath and again looked away.

Frowning, John watched her for a moment. "What's wrong?"

A forced smile popped up on her face. "Nothing." She shrugged. "Well, nothing outside the usual things," she added, trying to sound light.

John didn't buy it. Not for a second.

_"We… we've worked pretty closely for a while, haven't we?" He asked._

_Elizabeth's smile was bittersweet. "Yes," she answered softly. "We've been through a lot in the last couple years…"_

"Try again," he insisted quietly.

"What?" She questioned.

"What's wrong? And, tell me the truth this time," John's voice was quiet but firm.

She leaned back in her chair. "You've always been more curious than what's good for you." She arched a mischievous brow at him before her smile faded. "The IOA is concerned about your fitness to command, even once you've physically recovered. They're talking about having you relieved."

John looked away. He'd read enough Atlantis mission briefings during his recovery to know all about the IOA and the politics surrounding the Atlantis expedition. He pursed his lips. "I see."

"John," Elizabeth leaned forward, "I'm going to do everything I can to prevent that." Her expression turned slightly challenging. "The IOA may be in control, but I have some pretty influential contacts, I'm not done fighting yet. I'm not alone either. General O'Neill is putting some pressure on them as well." She stood and paced. "Even Colonel Caldwell seems to be open minded… for now. He's reserving judgment and stalling the IOA." She smiled slightly at him. "Guess you've managed to make an impression with him."

John tapped the pencil on the open book and frowned as he let the silence linger for a long moment. Forcing himself to look at things objectively he found a realization he didn't like but couldn't turn away from. "Not sure you should be fighting this, Elizabeth," he said quietly.

"What?" Her voice held a disbelieving tone as she walked back to his bed. "You can't be serious."

He looked up at her. "Like it or not, I'm the least experienced soldier on Atlantis now." He dropped his head. "Not exactly what you want in a commanding officer."

"John, you're getting better every day. The memories will come." Her gaze narrowed in blunt determination. "I'm not ready to give up on you just yet."

Slowly, John smiled. "Nice to know."

Elizabeth nodded. "Don't let this worry you, John, please. Just focus on getting better. The rest will take care of itself."

John sighed quietly. _How could he not think about it?_ "Okay."

"Now," Elizabeth nodded at the book in his lap. "Where were we?"

----------------------------

Rodney resisted the urge to kick the scanner. "Piece of crap," he muttered, "I know you're hiding something from me." He knelt and stared at the control crystals again. He'd been inside this panel so many times he swore he had the lay out memorized. Rodney sat back and sighed. For close to two weeks, this damn scanner had been his life. He'd relentlessly shoved all his other projects of on Radek Zelenka and surprisingly the Czech doctor had taken it all in without a word. Rodney had no doubt Zelenka knew exactly what he was devoting his time too. "Everybody likes you, Sheppard," he sighed before reaching for a control crystal.

Rodney stopped mid-reach and stared, his eyes widening. He looked down at his pad and typed a few keys before looking back up at the crystals. "Is it that easy?" he whispered. He pulled one crystal and scooted to the next panel before inserting the crystal in an open control slot. He sat back for a moment. "McKay you are a genius," he smiled. Grabbing his pad, Rodney started hastily typing commands.

-----------------------------------

The mission report on M32-846 was not doing a good job of keeping John's attention. He looked up, his gaze wandering over the Ancient architecture. Elizabeth's words stuck with him and he felt the urgency in them. He couldn't remember much about the IOA, beyond what he'd recently read, but he'd tangled with pencil pushing bureaucrats before. They were all the same. He sighed quietly. This time though, while he chafed at their interference, he also saw their point. The military side of him saw the need for a strong, experienced officer commanding this outpost. Right now, he was far from that and there were no guarantees he'd ever be able to fill that role again. John grimaced and pushed the analytical, military part of himself aside. Memories or not, he knew, in his gut, that he belonged here and wanted… needed to stay. A rustling of the privacy curtain captured his attention and he looked up and straight into the face of Colonel Caldwell.

"Am I interrupting, Colonel?" Caldwell asked his face an impartial mask.

"No," John took a deep breath. "Just thinking. Come in, sir."

Caldwell walked in and stood at the foot of John's bed. "You look better, Sheppard."

John smiled faintly. "Thank you, sir."

Caldwell gazed at him a moment longer, before looking away. He inhaled deeply before letting his breath out noisily. "Dr. Weir informed me that she told you about the situation with the IOA." He looked back and stared impassively at John.

John licked his lips and nodded. "Yes, sir, she did."

Caldwell's gaze narrowed. "I'm going to be frank with you, Sheppard. I'm not convinced that you should remain in command of Atlantis, given your condition."

John's lips tightened as he clenched his jaw, but he said nothing.

"But," Caldwell crossed his arms across his chest, "I'm not convinced that you should be relieved yet either."

John's gaze narrowed. "With all due respect, sir, what exactly are you saying?"

Caldwell's expression turned bemused. "That I'm not ready to pass judgment on you, Colonel, and I thought you should know that." Caldwell stared at him a moment longer before turning away to leave.

John's mind raced. He knew that he and Caldwell'd had their run-ins, and it wasn't just from reading past mission reports. Somehow, Caldwell's statement felt unexpected. He looked up. "Sir?"

Caldwell turned back. "Colonel?"

John found a small smile and nodded slightly. "Thank you, sir."

Caldwell's expression turned slightly mocking, but still held a note of sincerity. "Don't thank me yet, Colonel." Without another word, he left John alone.

------------------------------------

The stillness of night did nothing to soothe John. He should be sleeping and he was sure that everyone in the infirmary believed he was. He glanced at the clock on a nearby table that read half past two. He quietly threw back the sheet, relieved that he'd been allowed to trade a hospital gown for scrubs and that he was finally rid of the bandage, although his head still felt tender and strangely bare. His hair was still short, but growing, the hair on his crown already starting to take a life of its own. Free of an IV for over a week now, there was nothing chaining John to his bed. He slowly sat up, breathing through the brief vertigo that washed over him. It got better every day, but still threw him for a loop whenever he got out of bed. Carson had reassured him it would fade in time, something John was grateful for. He was a pilot and vertigo was something that would ground him without a doubt. He eased off the bed. The cool floor felt refreshing as he slowly walked to the privacy curtain. Pulling it back slightly, he looked around, relieved to see, with the exception of a couple of sleeping patients, a deserted infirmary. After spending over a month here, he'd gotten to know the staff schedule pretty well. _Especially since I spent the first few weeks being woke up every damn hour…_ In another half hour, the night staff would do their rounds and he planned on being gone by then.

John sighed quietly. Its not that he wanted to escape… okay, he really did want out but this was different. In the last week since Elizabeth had told him about the IOA, he'd chafed at the slowness of his recovery. His body felt stronger every day, but his head was still scrambled. Memories weren't coming back to him, and he knew it was because his surroundings never changed. John frowned. _Okay, I don't __**know**__ that…_ but his mind kept going back to the experience with the defibrillator and how it jarred his memories, if only briefly. Somehow, deep inside, he felt this was what he should do… what he needed to do.

He took a deep breath and walked out into the infirmary, taking a moment to pull the curtain closed behind him. Noiselessly, he walked across the infirmary and exited, wincing at the loud sound of the door opening then closing behind him. _First thing's first… clothes._ He took a left and headed straight for his quarters, relieved that in one of his previous walks, Carson had actually taken him there. His eyebrow quirked. Wouldn't do to have to stop and ask for directions…

He hoped the late hour would mean the hallways were deserted. Somehow he really didn't want to have to explain why he was walking the corridors of Atlantis in the middle of the night, barefoot and in infirmary scrubs. But, when he rounded a corner and found himself face to face with a female scientist, he just smiled and acted confident, in spite of her puzzled expression. He reached his quarters and entered, breathing a quiet sigh of relief as the door closed behind him.

Reaching out, John leaned on the doorframe, and took a deep breath. Irritation at his lack of stamina flared within him. Never mind he was only a little over a month out from a critical injury, he was still pissed that a walk from the infirmary to his quarters tired him so much. It was several long minutes before he let go.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, which read a quarter to three. In fifteen minutes, the night staff would discover he was gone. His quarters would be one of the first places they'd check and he planned on being gone by then. John winced slightly as he pushed back the thought of the butt chewing he was destined to get from Carson. In the past month, he'd re-learned that, while Carson was one of the kindest people he'd ever met, the man was downright tyrannical when it came to protecting a patient's health, or enforcing his care instructions even if the patient was the offender. He had a stare that would wither just about any Special Ops guy John had ever met and a tongue that would put his ex drill sergeant to shame.

John found a pair of pants and t-shirt along with socks and his combat boots and quickly got dressed. He turned to the chair next to his bed and picked up his lightweight, gray coat that lay over the back of the chair. He paused, his gaze settling on the holstered Beretta that laid on the seat a surge of hatred flowing through him.

_"I'm not screwin' around, Bob! Did you sabotage this base or not?"_

"… _I don't think we've gone far enough!"_

John sucked in a deep breath as adrenaline coursed through him. _Wraith… Atlantis…_

_"Listen, Bob, I have no problem with killing you whatsoever."_

Images of a tattooed Wraith, snarling in defiance, flashed across his mind's eye. John struggled to stay calm… to let the memories surface. But for now, his mind was done and the memories faded.

John sucked in a deep breath, determination steeling him. If he wasn't sure this was the right course of action for him before, he damn sure was positive now. Reaching out, he grabbed his sidearm and quickly strapped it around his waist and thigh before he left his quarters.

He strode down the hallway, away from his quarters. He took a deep breath and looked around as he continued walking, waiting for something to spur his memories. As he rounded a corner, he stopped, his gaze fixing on a wide, tall stairwell.

"… _So long, Rodney…"_

"Jumpers," he muttered before starting up the auxiliary staircase that led to the Jumper bay. At the halfway point he had to stop and rest, his irritation once more flaring but he kept it in check. He knew, deep down, that this excursion was doing him good. The last thing he needed was to pass out in some secluded stairwell. Starting again, John made his way up the last flights and stopped, staring at a large, closed door. He reached out, barely touching the control crystal and the door obligingly opened.

As he entered the large bay, he stopped, his eyes passing over several Jumpers patiently docked on different levels. He'd read enough mission reports to have an idea what the little ships were all about, but beyond that…

He knew there was so much more to remember. Feelings… experiences. He closed his eyes, his mind awash with memories…

Discovery…

"_I'm thinkin' of a nice turkey sandwich…"_

Urgency… his heart pounded…

"_See anything that looks like a weapons console?"_

Desperate sacrifice…

"_Weapon is armed and ready… I'm goin' in."_

John inhaled deeply, forcing himself to relax and let whatever memories that wanted to, surface.

"_Not one of my better landings…"_

"_I'll give you a Jumper! I'll fly it out of here myself!"_

The barriers that blocked his mind were down. John opened his eyes and slowly approached one of the ships.

"_A little puddle jumper like this?"_

Slowly, he ran his hand over the smooth surface.

"_It's like it reads your mind…"_

---------------------------

The Jumper hummed to life, spurred by the harmony it sensed in this one; the one that had awoken it after many millennia of slumber. There was no doubting his presence, the strength of his connection as he ran his hand over smooth metal. Sensors followed him as he stood on the opened back ramp. The link with this one was strong. He touched and it obeyed…

-----------------

John touched the interior wall, resisting the urge to jump as dim cab lights abruptly came on. _The gene…_ He'd read enough mission reports to know about the ATA gene he carried, but what he felt as he walked into the Jumper was so much more than just impartial facts.

_"You need me to get off this planet. I'm the only one that can fly that ship!"_

He stopped, dead center in the Jumper and stared at the controls.

_Okay, now what am I thinking?_

---------------

The thoughts were vague, unfocused and always changing, but the ship obeyed, interpreted as best as possible what he wanted and provided it. That's what it was designed for, what the mental bond was all about. This one was it's pilot; the one that made it swoop freely through the skies as it was meant to. It would give him what he wanted… find what he needed…

--------------------

He slowly walked forward to the front of the Jumper. Abruptly, the cockpit lights came on, the control panels lighting up with a quiet hum. "Hello, baby," he muttered as he rested his hand on the back of the pilot's chair. Snapshots of memories still assaulted him. Flying… explosions….

"_Hang on!"_

John took one deep breath, then another. His memories flashed past him like a slideshow, so many of them too quick for him to recognize. The blackness of space, then the blue darkness of water…

_"We're under water! I always wanted to try this…"_

John sat down and smiled as he ran his hands over the smooth console. "I love flyin' you…"

It was more than facts. More than what he'd read in mission reports. The words came from deep inside him, their truth relieving him. For the first time in a month something came back to him with stark clarity and for the first time in a month, he felt like he belonged and in spite of the fading memories he felt content; felt like he'd made real progress and he couldn't help but smile because of it.

It was a long time before he moved, but when he stood his hand lingered on the control panel. "Thanks, girl," he muttered. He could've sworn he felt added warmth permeate his fingertips but he dismissed it as he pulled his hand away and the control panel went dark.

Exiting the back of the Jumper, John paused and looked at his watch. Three fifteen, but the adrenaline that flowed thorough him invigorated him and drove away any feelings of fatigue. He knew the med crew would be on the hunt for him now. He knew eventually they'd find him, or he'd make his way back to the infirmary when he was ready, to face the wrath of Carson. But even if he was found now, what just happened and the progress he felt, made it all worth it.

He slowly walked out of the Jumper bay, his mind deep in thought. He tried to pull on each memory; each thought that had run through his mind to find the meaning of them. The snarling, tattooed Wraith stood out above all of them and he unconsciously winced. _Bob…_ He'd read the mission report, knew what that Wraith had stood for, and how they'd barely escaped the siege Bob's kin had unleashed on Atlantis. But the raw hatred had never been there… not until now. His mind jumped from one Wraith to another… a nameless Wraith he faced alone, wounded with only a knife and an empty nine mil to defend himself…

"…_Lock onto the biggest life sign signals you can see and fire."__  
_

"_That's an order, Lieutenant! Do it!"__  
_

"_McKay, run!"_

He stopped extending one hand, shaking with anger to steady himself against the wall. He took one breath, then another. That was why he was the CO; why he served here. He'd fought the Wraith and won… more than once. It was more than just defending Atlantis and Earth. For him, it was personal. He'd lost people under his command to the Wraith and he had a score to settle.

John swallowed hard, his anger tempered by the cool, analytical mind of a soldier. He wasn't bent on vengeance or consumed by hatred, but he knew that the fire of those emotions, buried deep down, served only to strengthen his resolve, the same resolve that had gotten him out of more hopeless situations than he cared to admit.

He resumed walking, the cool, deserted corridors of Atlantis soothing him. He stopped in front of a large set of doubled doors and stared at them for a moment, before running his hand over the control crystal. The doors parted and he slowly walked out onto a large, outdoor balcony.

John took a deep breath, the tang of salt water invigorating him. It wasn't that Atlantis was stuffy, the Ancient city was far from that, but nothing could replace the refreshing feeling that ocean air brought to him, the comfort his spirit found in the open air. He was born to be a pilot and wide-open spaces with seemingly endless skies always soothed his soul. Slowly, he walked across the large balcony.

_You have earned both my friendship and that of my people. With our help you will make many more friends…_

John smiled. _Teyla. _He hadn't seen much of the Athosian woman in the past few weeks. His brows knitted slightly. That wasn't normal; somehow he just knew it. Instinctively, he realized something with Teyla was wrong.

_My team?_

For a moment, he berated himself for not realizing it sooner, but quickly dismissed the thought. _You know something's wrong now. Better late than never._ He put the thought aside; something to rectify in the coming days, and continued walking towards the distant railing.

_You do realize I can get us into all sorts of trouble, right?_

He reached the railing and stopped, his hands slowly closing over the cool metal as he leaned slightly on it.

-------------------------------

The warmth of his hand was not lost on it. Triggered by his touch the city awaited his command; orders from one it was designed to obey… to serve. It responded with a subtle warmth only he would feel if he was receptive to it…

--------------------------------

His gaze roamed over the city, the tall spires from each pier reflecting the bright moonlight. The majesty humbled him and it wasn't because his injury made it all new. Somehow, John knew, the view of the city would always be far from ordinary.

_"We're moving!" _

_"On the surface without a shield? We're target practice." _

_"You don't leave people behind!"_

His thoughts drifted. His post here was a post of a lifetime. Even with his scant memories, innately John knew there was nowhere else he'd rather be. His loud sigh was tinged with frustration. His position here was endangered. The military part of him understood, although reluctantly. The intel he needed and the experience that he'd carried were vital components of his command. Without them…

John pushed away from the railing and walked slowly across the balcony. He could feel the tension… the scrutiny from Caldwell and through him, the IOA. He was on display, every aspect of his recovery subject to close judgment and it was wearing thin on him. _'course if I'd just remember…_ He ran a frustrated hand over his stubble of hair. That was the hitting point, wasn't it? If he just had his memories… all of them, not just these snippets that filled in the blanks with the consistency of Swiss cheese. He returned to the railing, his emotions churning and no longer finding peace. Innately, he knew he belonged here and the thought of being sent away… of being denied his post here went against every instinctive fiber in his body. His gaze drifted out across the city again. He could remember barely anything about her, but like an irresistible woman, he knew he couldn't accept losing her… he wouldn't accept it.

_McKay…_ Somehow, John knew deep inside that McKay was the one to turn to for answers. He'd always listened to his gut, and it had gotten him out of trouble more times than it had gotten him into it. Bowing to his instinct, John turned and headed back towards the door, only to stop mid way as he staggered, trying to keep his feet. His vision doubled and knees buckled as his weak and healing body reached the end of its limited endurance. He fell hard, catching himself on his arm and side, somehow keeping his vulnerable head from impacting. He hissed in pain and cradled his left wrist in his right hand. "Damn it!" He moved his fingers experimentally and rolled onto his back, carefully letting his tender head come to rest on the cool deck plating. John settled his injured wrist on his chest and bent his knees before he looked up at the stars, their light dimmed by the full moon. "Carson's gonna kill me…" he muttered.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks so much for the reviews and the continued support of this story in spite of my long delays. Life has been interesting to say the least. When I started this story I lost my job. Now a few short months later, I'm looking at buying a wonderful condo. :D Needless to say, fandom has taken a back seat to RL more than once during the course of this story._

_Thanks for the patience. :)_

_------------------------------------------_

"Dr. Beckett, come in please."

Pulled from sound sleep, Carson rolled over and stared at the clock next to his bed before grabbing the radio headset and fitting it over his ear. "This is Beckett. 'Tis five after three, Susan, this better be good." Internally, he winced at his snappy tone, but he hadn't had much sleep lately and was feeling less than charitable.

"Carson, I'm sorry," Susan Biro, the doctor on night call this week responded. "I really didn't want to wake you, but, well, I thought I should…"

Carson yawned as he listened to Biro's typical chatter. "Susan," he cut her off as he rubbed is eyes, "what is it?"

"Colonel Sheppard is missing," Biro answered quietly.

All lingering fatigue fled from Carson's body as he sat up straight. "Missing? Bloody hell!" he stood and crossed his room, before fumbling around for clothes.

"Carson, Kathy was sure he was sleeping…" Biro's voice trailed off.

Carson's thoughts touched on the competent graveyard shift nurse that had been assigned to the Colonel since his injury. He sighed. "I know, its okay. I should've seen this coming. Memories or not, the colonel can be a perfectly bullheaded patient." Pulling a shirt over his head Carson reached for his pants. "How long?"

"We just noticed on the three AM rounds," Biro responded. "He was sleeping at two so, an hour at the most. We tried reaching him by radio but there was no response. He doesn't seem to have it with him."

"Aye," Carson finished dressing and headed for the door. "Or he's just not answering. He could be anywhere by now. Contact Ops and see if they can use the city's scanners to find him. And," he sighed, "as much as I hate to do it, you better wake Dr. Weir and the Colonel's team and let them know what's going on. I'll meet them in Ops. Beckett out."

--------------------------

_John stood silently at the back wall of the infirmary and stared, watching as the base surgeon, Lieutenant Colonel Kenton, and his team worked on Martinez. The flight back had been a blur. He'd pushed the chopper past what any sane pilot would've considered, relying on his gut instinct to keep them all from getting killed; the sound of Edwards counting of CPR cycles driving him. Barely sparing a hand to contact McMurdo to have a med team standing by…_

_He glanced at Edwards who stood next to him, his gaze riveted on Martinez. John had known Edwards for almost a year and even for a medic, Edwards took every patient's health and welfare personally. It was part of what John liked about him. The attitude was not unlike the one he took towards any man under his command. "At least they're still working," he offered quietly. _

"_Yeah," Edwards' reply was gruff. _

_John looked over his shoulder and straightened slightly as Colonel Hays walked towards him. He nodded once. "Colonel."_

_Hays returned the gesture. "Major." It was at that moment that Colonel Kenton left Martinez side and walked over to the group. _

_For the first time, Edwards looked away from Martinez gurney. "Sir?" He stared at the surgeon._

"_Damn fine job you did, Lieutenant," Kenton smiled at Edwards. "He's going to make it thanks to you." Kenton turned his gaze to John. "And you, Major. Hell of a quick trip back, and that made the difference."_

_John smiled slightly. "Glad to hear it, sir."_

"_By all rights your asses should be crashed somewhere out there instead of standing here feeling smug about yourselves." Hays glared hard at John. "You were lucky, Sheppard."_

_John's smile faded and he felt a spark of challenge rise in him. Didn't he just get them back in one piece? Saved Martinez's life? He pursed his lips remembering how he fought the sheering winds and near suicidal speeds the whole way back to McMurdo. He sighed. Hays had a point. "Yes, sir." _

_Hays smiled. "That said, damn fine flying, Major. _

_John's smile returned. "Thank you, sir."_

"_Colonel Kenton," Edward's soft voice interrupted John and Hays' conversation. "Martinez? Is he going to be okay?"_

_Kenton sighed. "He's going to live."_

_John's gaze narrowed at the doctor and he beat Edwards to the question. "What does that mean?"_

_After a moment, Kenton looked directly at John. "He's going to lose his left foot. Frostbite. I'll wait a bit for him to get stronger and then we're going to have to amputate it. He'll get an honorable discharge after that." _

"_Damn it!" Edwards turned away and ran a hand thorough his short hair. _

"Honorable discharge…" John whispered to himself as he stared at the stars overhead. That had done nothing to placate Martinez and now, John really knew how the young airman had felt.

The cool deck plating under him sent a shiver through his body. John sighed before carefully trying to sit up. He got about a foot off the deck before a strong wave of vertigo flattened him. It was a few minutes before he felt confident enough to open his eyes and move his head gently without worrying about losing whatever might be in his stomach. He left his injured hand lying on his stomach and reached for his radio, his hand making it all the way to his ear before he remembered that he'd 'conveniently' left it behind. "Great," he sighed, "might be in a little trouble here…."

------------------------------

Elizabeth climbed the last flight of stairs to the command deck. Carson was already there and she nodded in acknowledgment as she approached him.

"Ronon, Teyla and Rodney are on their way," Carson nodded back.

"What…" Elizabeth started.

"What the hell does he think he's doing?" From the back stairwell, a slightly disheveled Rodney McKay stalked into the control room, his voice demanding attention. "For god's sake, we have better things to do than babysit him." Rodney took a moment to glare at Carson. "Isn't that your job anyway?"

"The night staff thought he was sleeping, Rodney," Carson's low voice held a tinge of irritation.

"Well, apparently not!" Rodney snapped as he sat down at one of the consoles. "Here I am trying to figure out that damn scanner and I have to take time to play Hansel and Gretel trying to follow a trail of breadcrumbs in hopes of finding him simply because he has the patience of a twelve year old boy!"

"Rodney!" Elizabeth cut him off mid tirade. Her voice was a little sharper than normal but at nearly four in the morning, it was the best she could muster. "Can the sensors help us at all?"

"Probably," Rodney reached in front of the night technician who spared a moment to glare at him before scooting out of the way. Oblivious, Rodney continued. "At this hour, there can't be that many people out and about… hello."

Elizabeth walked up behind him. She could feel the rest of the team standing behind her. "What?"

"The lights are on in the Jumper Bay," Rodney answered before he tapped a few controls on the panel. "That's odd."

"Do you think the Colonel was there?" Carson asked.

"Well someone turned them on!" Rodney snapped back. "I for one don't believe in coincidences." Rodney brought up a schematic display of the Jumper Bay. "But, whoever it was, isn't there anymore. Widening the scan… Ah ha!"

Elizabeth looked down at the display and nodded at the one life showing on one of Atlantis' several outdoor balconies. "Ronon's quarters are the closest." She reached up and tapped her headset. "Ronon, this is Weir."

"Go ahead," Ronon answered.

"We think we might have found Colonel Sheppard. Balcony 3, section 5D. Are you close by to confirm that?"

"Close enough," Ronon's voice was even.

"I'll meet you there," Carson interjected.

"No."

Elizabeth narrowed her gaze at the Satedan man's immediate reply. "Ronon?"

"Let me talk to him first," Ronon replied.

Elizabeth looked at Carson, noticing the determined gaze in his eyes.

"Son, he could be injured," Carson insisted. "He may need some help."

"If he's hurt , I'll call you. Ronon out."

Elizabeth arched her brows as Ronon cut off communication, her gaze still fixed on Carson's unconvinced look.

"Guess he told you," Rodney muttered sarcastically.

She looked away from Carson and thought for a moment about the strength of the bond that had developed between John and Ronon in the last year. Ronon had to have a reason for his actions, and she trusted him enough that if something was wrong with John, he'd call for Carson.

"Elizabeth, I should be there," Carson insisted.

She shook her head. "Let's give Ronon a chance. He'll call if John needs you." She smiled slightly, as, after a moment, Carson sighed and nodded in agreement.

----------------------------------

Ronon passed his hand over the control crystal for the door to balcony 3 and stepped through the doorway as soon as it opened. He waited a moment, his senses extended, as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Even before he could see Sheppard, Ronon knew he was there. He could feel it, and, as his eyes adjusted and a dark form lying on the deck came into focus, he knew his gut had been right. He walked towards the colonel. "Sheppard?"

"Hey, Ronon," Sheppard's voice was weak but clear. "Funny meeting you here."

One side of Ronon's mouth turned up in mild amusement as he stopped and crouched next to Sheppard. "McKay's sensors. You okay?"

Sheppard blinked and sighed. "Sort of…"

Ronon's smile faded. "Want me to call Beckett?" His brows furrowed as Sheppard's neutral expression turned into a wince.

"Not really, no."

Ronon slowly rocked back and sat down, parallel to Sheppard. He let his arms rest on his knees. "What are you doing out here?"

"Admiring the stars… but that part was a little… unexpected." John answered quietly. "I set out with every intention to spark memories and plug some of the holes in this damn hunk of Swiss Cheese I call a brain." His voice turned cynical. "This wasn't part of the plan."

Ronon nodded to himself and saw a dark humor in it all. Sounded like something he'd do, and Sheppard's frustration was understandable. He knew he'd be a lot more pissed then this if their roles were reversed. "Shouldn't have fell," he quipped darkly.

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Sheppard replied, "but it was either that or pass out from vertigo. Either way, I'd be on my ass right now."

"Did it work?"

"Did what work?" Sheppard questioned.

"Memories," Ronon looked down at him. "Did you remember anything?" For the first time since he'd been there, Ronon saw a smile fleet across Sheppard's face.

"Oh yeah, lots. Bits and pieces and I still don't have it sorted, but… yeah."

Sheppard sighed loudly and there was a long pause before he spoke again; a pause Ronon was content to let linger.

"Ronon," Sheppard began quietly, "they're going to take Atlantis from me."

Ronon nodded slightly, even though Sheppard couldn't see the gesture. "Yep."

"What?" Sheppard's slight chortle had a distinctly sarcastic note to it. "No 'don't say that' or 'we won't let that happen'?"

Ronon scratched the back of his head. "Nope."

"You're not really strong in the bedside manner thing are you?" Sheppard chuckled quietly.

Ronon didn't say a word as instinctively, he felt the humor leave Sheppard.

"It's a post of a lifetime you know," John continued. "Atlantis. I know if they take me away from here, I'll never see her again. Even if I fully recover. I'll never get to come back."

Ronon nodded. Other than being here in Atlantis, he had no experience with Earth's military way, but in many ways he suspected it was a lot like Sateda; and he knew if this had been Sateda, that the same thing would be happening. "You gonna let them do that?" He asked.

Sheppard's sigh was clearly audible. "I don't think I have much say in it. Especially if I can't get my memories back." His voice turned snappy. "Why do you think I'm out here anyway?"

Ronon sat silent for a moment, considering the situation and what Sheppard had done. He knew no one else would agree, but he thought Sheppard was doing the right thing. Maybe pushing himself too hard, but it was something that Ronon respected. In the same situation, he'd be doing the same thing. In the last year that he'd known Sheppard, his respect for the colonel had grown considerably. Like him, Sheppard was a fighter, but he didn't harbor it close to the surface the way Ronon did. At first, Ronon had seen it as a weakness. Hadn't seen the fighter in Sheppard; the kindred spirit. But he'd seen Sheppard fight; truly fight, and he knew the strength was there. "Keep fighting," he said quietly. He barely heard Sheppard's quiet chuckle.

"I intend to."

Shifting in to a crouch, Ronon looked down at Sheppard. "Beckett's pretty mad."

Sheppard grimaced. "Figured that." He pointed at the hand that lay on his waist. "He's really not gonna like this either."

Ronon's gaze narrowed. "You hurt?"

"Just the wrist," Sheppard admitted. "Think I sprained it when I fell."

"Ronon this is Weir. Did you find him?" Weir's voice over the radio startled him slightly. Ronon pointed at his head. "Weir."

John sighed loudly. "Great. Ass chewing number 2…"

Ronon stifled a chuckle as he tapped his radio headset. "Yeah, he's here. He's okay. Taking him to the infirmary. Ronon out." He looked down at Sheppard again. "Think you can stand?"

"With some help? Maybe." Sheppard lifted his good hand towards Ronon. "Just take it slow, okay?"

Ronon firmly grabbed Sheppard's wrist. "Yep." He slowly stood, carefully pulling Sheppard along with him. When they were both standing, he steadied Sheppard with both hands as the colonel rocked slightly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sheppard whispered, his head bowed. "Just… gimme a second…" After a long minute he looked up. "I'm good."

Still keeping one hand on Sheppard's arm, Ronon slowly started walking towards the door. Right before they reached it, he stopped and stared Sheppard squarely in the eye. "Keep fighting," he said. "And next time, call me. I'll help you."

Sheppard stared back, before a smile slowly formed on his pale face. "I doubt I'll be able to escape Beckett again, but if I can, you got a deal."

Ronon smiled back and nodded, before carefully helping Sheppard back through the door and towards the infirmary.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you so much for your continued support, even though its taking me ages to finish this story. My house purchase is going very well. Should close the 20__th__ of next month. I'll still try to post updates though! It's a great distraction from packing ;)_

John staggered slightly and felt Ronon's arm tighten around his waist. The walk back to the infirmary had been uneventful, but each step had seemed to sap his strength bit by bit. John knew he was leaning hard on Ronon, but he really didn't feel he had a choice; short of letting the big ex-runner carry him. _Hell, no!_

"Sheppard?" Ronon looked down at him.

"I'm good, just tripped," John answered and started walking again.

"Sure."

John arched an eyebrow at Ronon's cynical response. He sighed.

"Beckett's really going to be pissed," Ronon added a note of dark humor to his voice.

"Thanks for reminding me," John answered sarcastically, before concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. "God I feel like shit," he muttered.

"Look like it too," Ronon reached up, taking hold of John's good hand that was draped over his shoulders.

"C'mon," John protested weakly. "I can't look _that_ bad…" He looked up at Ronon's cynical look, complete with arched eyebrow. "Great," John sighed again. He returned his attention forward as the infirmary doors came into view. He'd be lucky to have an ass to sit on once Carson got done with him.

As the doors to the infirmary opened, John found himself captured by a withering glare from Carson. He tried a feeble smile. "Hey, Doc."

Carson crossed the infirmary in bold strides, his pace apparently matching his temper.

"Don't ye 'hey Doc' me! Of all the bull-headed, reckless…" Carson threw his hands in the air. "What the bloody hell were ye thinking?"

John winced, noting the stronger, more pronounced accent in Carson's voice; a tell tale sign he was madder than a wet hen. _He always gets this way when he's pissed, or upset…_ John drew in a deep breath, trying to stay composed as struggled to figure out how he knew that, but he couldn't… he just **knew.**

_"So you're the one. You were the one that fired that thing at me!_

_"Well, next time just be a little more careful, okay?"_

_"What the hell was that thing anyway?"_

_"Come on. What are the odds of me having the same genes as these guys?"_

He barely noticed Carson walk up next to him until he hissed in pain as the doctor grabbed his free arm, jostling his injured wrist.

"Ach!" Carson's touch gentled even if his voice didn't. "What've ye done now?" He slid one hand under John's wrist, supporting it.

John felt Carson's eyes on him, but he was too preoccupied to return the gaze. He felt Carson's free hand grab the back of his upper arm.

"Colonel?"

"The Chair," John whispered.

"Aye," Carson's voice immediately softened. "What is it, son?"

John's brows furrowed. He could feel the memory there, just on the edge of his consciousness… beyond one, last barrier he couldn't seem to break. Remembering his experience in the Jumper Bay, John took a deep breath and forced his mind to relax; to find the crack in the wall that blocked his subconscious mind and to break through it.

"You shot a… a drone… at me," John's voice remained hushed. From the corner of his eye he saw Carson wince.

"That was me," Carson answered.

"Outpost," John grimaced as he reached for the scraps of memories that were slipping away from him, "McMurdo…" The memories fled, leaving him with the dark emptiness of amnesia. He sighed, and at that moment, felt his knees buckle slightly.

"Ach, enough!" Carson's grip on his arm tightened as he steadied John's wrist with his other hand. "To bed with ye," he ordered.

John slowly sat down on the edge of his bed, silently relieved to be off his feet. He nodded once, slightly, in thanks to Ronon as the big man stepped back.

A faint smile creased Ronon's eyes and barely touched his mouth as he nodded back.

John looked back at Carson, who stood in front of him, still holding his wrist. Knowing nothing he could say would change the doctor's mood he just frowned and sat silently staring at Carson's expression which was an odd mix, of anger, worry and compassion, dashed with a little hope. After a moment, the doctor looked down at John's wrist.

"How did this happen?" Carson asked, his voice calmer, as he poked gently at the joint, and sighed as John flinched in response.

"Kinda got dizzy and fell," John answered quietly. He stared silently back as Carson again looked up at him, eyes widening in alarm.

"Did ye hit your head?"

Reflexively, John shook his head, then winced and groaned quietly as the little man with the sledgehammer beat harder on his forehead. "No." With his free hand he pointed at his injured wrist. "That's how this happened. Tried to catch myself."

Carson nodded and gently turned John's wrist over before poking it again. "I don't think it's broken, but I want some x-rays to be sure."

John stared at the dark circles under Carson's eyes and realized the doctor had probably been woken up from a much needed sleep. He sighed. "Sorry to wake ya, Doc."

Carson looked up at him, his expression stern. "Aye, you should be." After a long moment, a small smile softened his features. "We'll get you settled, and then both of us can get some sleep, alright?"

John smiled back. "Okay." He looked over Carson's shoulder as his night nurse, Kathy, rolled a wheelchair up next to his bed. He grimaced. "Wheelchair?"

"Aye," Carson's tone left no room for argument. "And you'll use it. I'll not have ye fallin' on that fool head of yours."

John sighed as Carson relinquished control of his injured wrist to him and helped him stand, then sit in the wheelchair. "I want pictures of that wrist, and then I want ye in that bed."

The x-rays were quick, and before John knew it, he was changed into hospital scrubs, his wrist immobilized with a splint, and back in his bed. But sleep eluded him so he stared at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened in the last two hours. All the memories, flashes of things he knew; glimpses of his past. He held tight to them, treasured them, even if he wasn't exactly sure what all of it meant.

The privacy curtain moving grabbed his attention as Carson slowly walked through and pulled the curtain closed behind him.

"Thought you were going to get some sleep, Colonel." Carson slowly sat down in a stool next to John's bed.

"You too, Doc," John countered and arched his eyebrow challengingly.

Carson's thin smile still revealed his dimples. "Aye." His smile faded. "Why'd you do it, son? I canna have you breaking out of my infirmary all the time."

John looked away. "Doc… Carson," he amended, "I gotta get my memories back. Lying here in this bed wasn't doing the trick. I had to get out," he shook his head in frustration, "see the city… **let** the memories… I don't know… find me…" his voice trailed off in frustration.

"You take walks around the city every day," Carson countered. "Why…"

"I had to do it alone," John interrupted. "No distractions. No one hovering, just me and her… the city…" his voice trailed off as he realized how foolish he must've sounded, but as he looked back to Carson, he only saw understanding.

"Aye," Carson answered softly, before his expression sobered. "You could've hurt yourself badly tonight, John. You're just not ready yet. Ye got to take things slow."

Frustration welled in John and he pulled a hissing breath through his teeth. "I can't take it slow!" he insisted with quiet intensity. "I have to remember; have to get my memories back before the IOA takes…" his voice trailed off and he swallowed hard against a swell of emotion, "my command from me," he finished in a whisper.

"They haven't yet."

Carson's voice was mildly reassuring, but John wouldn't have anything to do with it. "Yet being the operative word here," he answered. "They will. Elizabeth can only hold them off for so long. Atlantis can only be without a stable military commander for so long before the IOA will move. They're bureaucrats. I've dealt with bureaucrats before. They'll walk right over the top of me without a second thought." John played with the fringes of his blanket, feeling disturbingly vulnerable. "I may not remember much… okay next to nothing, about Atlantis and my time here, but I do know that I don't want to leave." He pointed at his head. "I don't know it here, but I do know it," his hand fell to his chest, "here."

Carson's expression was full of compassion as he nodded slowly. "Aye," he agreed in a quiet voice. "We'll find a way to help ye, son."

------------------------------

Her stride strong and confident, Elizabeth strode down the long hallway to the infirmary. Next to her, Rodney was muttering about the inconveniences caused by a certain colonel that was on both their minds, but she paid him little heed. In the past couple years, Elizabeth had developed a very effective 'Rodney Filter'; allowing her to filter out the noise but still catch the important parts of whatever the topic of the moment was for Rodney.

"Elizabeth, are you listening to me?" Rodney demanded.

"Every word," she reassured and flashed him a small smile. "I suspect Carson will have read John the riot act already, so try not to be too hard on him." She glanced at him and arched an eyebrow at his annoyed look.

"Fine," Rodney responded. "It's only four thirty in the morning and we're all sleep-deprived, but let's not let that get in the way."

"You weren't sleeping anyway, Rodney," Elizabeth retorted, "be nice."

"Right," Rodney's voice sounded less than convinced. He took a deep breath as if he was going to say something, but fell quiet instead.

Elizabeth again glanced at him. "What is it?"

Rodney shifted his data pad from one hand to the other before scratching the back of his head. "I can't help but notice you've had a lot of communiqués from the IOA recently…" his voice trailed off as he fixed her with a pointed look.

Elizabeth sighed. Leave it to Rodney to notice. He was next to oblivious to human emotions and had about as many soft skills as a rock, but when it came to technology, details and monitoring security on Atlantis, nothing got past him. "Yes," she answered.

"Sheppard?" Rodney asked.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "They're getting harder and harder to keep at bay. They want some resolution on the situation with John and command of Atlantis, one way or the other… and they want it now."

"They can't be serious!" Rodney's voice went up an octave, "he was damn near killed! I know, I was there!"

"Rodney." Elizabeth chastised lightly.

"They can't expect him to be well yet," Rodney lowered his voice, "or to think that they have to just… just kick him out."

"They're concerned with having a stable chain of command and a strong, competent commanding officer." She sighed, "given all our troubles and enemies…" her voice trailed off.

"You agree with them?" Rodney's voice was incredulous.

"About removing John? No." she sighed, hating herself for seeing the logic of the IOA's concerns about John, but at the same time, the rational side of her couldn't deny it. Apprehension clenched her gut as, for a moment, she tried to envision life on Atlantis without John. In the three years they'd led the expedition together, she'd come to rely on his straightforward attitude, innate ability to command, and his unwavering support, whether or not he fully agreed with her. Rational side or not, she wouldn't let go of him. Not without a fight.

Elizabeth looked away, unable to meet gazes with Rodney, who surprisingly remained quiet. She swallowed hard and continued walking, quietly letting the conversation end as the infirmary doors loomed ahead of her. Taking a deep breath, she passed her hand over the door crystal and entered the infirmary. She turned towards John's corner of the infirmary and saw Carson sitting next to John's bed. Her gaze touched on John's sleeping face, before she smiled thinly at Carson. "How is he?" she asked quietly.

Carson's smile mirrored hers. "He sprained his wrist, but other than that, he's okay. Just exhausted. Don't think he wanted to sleep, but didn't have much choice in the matter."

"Huh," Rodney grunted. "At least he's getting some sleep."

Carson glanced up at Rodney. "Of all of us, he needs it the most." He lightly admonished before returning his gaze to John. "He regained some memories."

Elizabeth felt hope kindle within her and her eyes widened slightly. "How much?" Her voice remained quiet but still had an added note of intensity to it.

"A few snippets from his first… encounter with drone weapons at the Outpost in Antarctica." Carson winced.

Elizabeth felt a small smile pull at her mouth. Even now, three years later, Carson still got nervous every time he was around the Chair. "Anything else?"

"Probably," Carson answered, "I don't know for sure."

"I do."

Elizabeth turned, following the deep voce to Ronon, who, along with Teyla, had joined them, unnoticed. "Ronon?" she questioned.

Ronon walked up next to John's bed and looked down at him for a moment, before fixing his gaze on her. "He told me. Said he had lots of 'pieces' of memories come back to him when he was wandering around." Ronon's gaze narrowed slightly. "It was good for him."

Elizabeth met his strong look with a confident one of her own. For a man of few words, Ronon was a master of subtle hints and as she stared at him, his opinion became abundantly clear. He thought John did the right thing. She pursed her lips and nodded slightly.

"Aye, maybe," Carson answered, "but he went about it the wrong way."

"Not the way I see it," Ronon contradicted.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Rodney added sarcastically.

Elizabeth sighed. "Gentlemen," she headed off the debate before it got started. "This is a good conversation to have later."

"Elizabeth." For the first time since she'd arrived, Teyla spoke. "You can only keep the IOA at bay for so long before they will supersede you and remove the Colonel from command." She sighed and something akin of guilt flashed across her face before she smothered it with a stoic expression. "We must not let that happen."

Elizabeth looked down at John. She rubbed her eyes wearily before speaking softly. "I've been able to keep the IOA at bay so far, but it's not just because of my word. Colonel Caldwell is still in our camp on this, and between the two of us, we carry a lot of weight with them."

"Somehow, I'm not entirely comfortable placing this matter solely in the hands of Colonel Caldwell, but I can't imagine why," Rodney snapped quietly.

"I know, Rodney," Elizabeth answered. She shook her head. "If only he could remember."

"He is remembering," Carson insisted. "Tis not a fast process. We can't just wave a wand over his head and, 'poof' he has all his memories back. This is going to take some time." Carson looked back at John. "Maybe I need to speak to the IOA myself. Convince them of that."

Elizabeth shook her head. "They know, Carson. They're just not willing to let Atlantis continue without a definite, qualified CO for any length of time in hopes that John will recover enough of his memories to be fit for command."

"He didn't know thing one about Pegasus when we first arrived here," Rodney insisted, "none of us did, and we did a pretty damn good job getting along."

"I almost think there's more to this than his memories," Elizabeth commented quietly. Years of diplomatic work had given her tremendous insight and the ability to read people's opinions beyond what just came out of their mouths. "The IOA has resisted John being in command of Atlantis from the start. It took myself, General O'Neill and the president to get him the promotion and the post here in the first place."

"You think that's their reasoning behind all of this?" Carson asked, his gaze a cross between anger and disbelief.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not entirely. But I think it is a factor."

"Well, I for one would love nothing more than to put those squabbling bureaucrats in their place," Rodney interjected, "and we just might be able to do that."

Elizabeth slowly looked at him, her gaze narrowing. "Rodney?"

Rodney looked down at John for a moment, before stepping back and turning. He waved at them. "Come with me."

------------------------------

Rodney quickly walked down the hallway to the infirmary's lab confident that the rest of them were following his quick steps. Walking into the lab, Rodney tapped the space bar on his laptop, effectively bringing it out of hibernation before typing a series of commands into it as his companions gathered around the Ancient scanner. "I've made a lot of progress with this thing. I know for sure it has healing capabilities and I think I know how to run it."

"You're just telling us that now?" Carson stared incredulously at Rodney.

"I just figured it out!" Rodney snapped back. "At two thirty in the morning I might add. Next time I'll wake you so I can fill you in on all the details instead of waiting for a more civilized hour!"

"Rodney," Elizabeth interjected before Carson could respond, "you've made your point."

"You **think** you know how to run it?" Ronon walked around the end of the scanner.

Rodney sighed loudly. Sometimes the burden of being a genius was a hard one to bear. The more you did, the more people demanded of you. _I figured the damn thing out for god's sake!_ "Yes, think!" he turned his attention towards Ronon. "I don't know for sure and I don't think I **can** know for sure until we use it."

"Rodney I'm going to repeat what I said before," Carson's voice was resolute. "We're not testing this thing on the Colonel's brain!"

Rodney set his pad down and crossed his arms. "Tell me," he challenged Carson, "what are his chances, really, of regaining all of his memories? Or at least enough to keep his post here?" Rodney waved a hand. "Just a round figure, using conventional medicine. What are the chances, Carson?" He knew the answer; it'd been simple enough to research, but he was trying to make a point that had to be made. Hope and optimism were fine, but sometimes you had to cut through the crap and face reality.

Carson sighed. "With little progress after over a month of recovery, 'tis a slim chance he'll regain enough to keep his post here. I'll grant ye that." Carson pointed at the scanner. "But I'll not have that thing turning his brain into mush! Right now, he can live a normal and productive life, even if it's not on Atlantis. Something goes wrong with that thing; we could rob him of even that. I won't allow it."

Rodney threw his hands up in exasperation. "This is Sheppard we're talking about! He'd want to do this. He'd want to try. It's his life! Don't you think we should let him choose?"

"Yep," Ronon agreed. "I'd want to try. Sheppard too."

"Thank you!" Rodney waved Ronon's direction.

"I am not so sure of this," Teyla disagreed.

"Rodney," Elizabeth's voice was calm, in an apparent attempt to diffuse the high emotions radiating in the room. "We have to consider that John may not be in the right frame of mind to be making this decision."

Rodney dropped his head and scratched his brow wearily. "I can make this work." He looked up at her.

Elizabeth smiled thinly. "I'll think about it."

Rodney resisted the urge to argue further. He recognized her expression and knew that was the best answer he was going to get. "Fine." Turning back to his laptop, Rodney ignored all of them as they silently left.

--------------------------------

_A knock on the door grabbed John's attention. He dropped his book and pushed himself off his bunk before crossing the room to his door. Opening it, John straightened slightly as he found himself staring at Colonel Hays. "Sir," he stepped aside. "Come in." _

_"Major," Hays nodded as he walked past John and into his quarters. "Taking a little down time?"_

_John smiled and walked over to join the colonel. "Yes, sir. Needed to unwind." _

_Hays chuckled slightly. "I'll bet. Hell of a stunt you pulled." He turned and faced John. "You should know I'm putting you up for an Air Force commendation for it." _

_John's brows climbed up on his forehead. "Commendation, sir?" _

_Hays' expression turned deadpan. "You don't think you deserve it?" _

_"I can't speak to that, sir," John fidgeted uncomfortably, "but that's not why I did it."_

_Hays smiled and nodded his head. "I know, that's why I'm nominating you, Major." He took a step closer to John. "Martinez is alive because of you and Edwards. I'm putting him in for a medal too, by the way. At the end of the day, that's what matters…" _

John woke with a start and blinked as the memory faded and reality set in. He smiled slightly as he met gazes with Teyla. "What are you doing here?"

A shadow of a smile passed over her face. "I could not sleep."

John arched an eyebrow slightly. "Okay. But there has to be better places to feed your insomnia then here." He met the intensity of her brown eyes with a confident look of his own.

"There is not." Blinking hard, Teyla looked away.

John's gaze narrowed as he studied her. Her body was tense… on edge. He could feel it, even without touching her. His gaze fell to her hands and the white knuckled grip her interlaced fingers had on each other. He slowly looked back up at her. "Want to tell me what's wrong?" He asked gently.

"I cannot. I…" she drew in a deep breath and let it out forcefully. "I am sorry," she whispered.

John sat in silence for a moment. Somehow… somewhere in his gut, he knew the apology had nothing to do with her denying his question. "For what?" His voice was soft as he gently prodded her to talk to him. Something had been bothering her since the beginning of this whole ordeal and he wasn't going to let it slide anymore. "Teyla?"

Teyla's lips were pressed tight as she finally looked back at him. "For all of this," she waved slightly. "It is my fault."

John's brow furrowed. "Not according to everyone else… except you apparently." His gaze hardened slightly. "If anyone is to blame it's these T'eshii."

Teyla shook her head. "I should've been more alert. I should have…" her voice trailed off.

"Should've what?" John asked, but she shook her head.

"I cannot tell you, Colonel," her voice was resigned, "you must remember on your own."

John clenched his jaw for a moment before pushing his own frustration aside. "Teyla look at me," he insisted and was silent until she did. "I may not remember what happened, but I do know I'd do anything for anyone on my team. Period. That includes you. Whatever happened, I don't blame you."

Teyla abruptly stood. "You should not have had to do what you did."

Before John could say another word, she turned and quickly left.

John sighed loudly, allowing his own frustration to color his mood. How the hell could he help Teyla if he couldn't even remember what happened in the first place? Settling back in his bed, John tried to pull back the scraps of memories he'd experienced in the last few hours, but to no avail.

It sort of reminded him of his Grandma Eunice's snapshots. Hours he'd sit and endure one picture after another that obviously meant something to her, but, taken out of context, had no meaning to him. He could see the images in his head, but had no perspective… no attachment to go with them. Nothing more than rouge emotions he couldn't explain. Sleep eluded him as he stared at the ceiling, buried in his own frustration.

---------------------------------

The day's appointment schedule on her pad did nothing to hold Elizabeth's attention as she stared blankly at it. Abruptly, the sound of the gate activating grabbed her attention.

"Incoming wormhole," the gate technician's voice came over her headset. Pushing back from her desk Elizabeth stood and quickly walked out into Ops. "Do we have an IDC?"

"Affirmative," the technician answered, "it's a transmission from the SGC." His gaze narrowed slightly. "It's marked confidential. Your eyes only."

She nodded. "Pipe it into my office." Her stomach full of apprehension, Elizabeth swiftly walked back to her office and sat down. She took a deep breath and tapped her laptop, bringing up the transmission. Her brows arched slightly at the face of Richard Woolsey staring back at her.

"Richard? What can I do for you?"

"Dr. Weir," Woolsey responded, "I… I hate to be the one to tell you this."

Elizabeth dropped her head and sighed. She had a sinking feeling she knew what he was going to say. "Go on."

"The IOA has decided to relieve Colonel Sheppard of his command, effective immediately. Colonel Caldwell will be ordered to step in as military commander temporarily, until a suitable commanding officer for the Daedalus can be found. At that point, Colonel Caldwell will be instated as the military commander of Atlantis permanently." Even over the transmission and two galaxies away, Woolsey's sigh was still audible. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I know how much you fought this."

Elizabeth stared back at him as she tried to get a hold of a wide array of emotions, each one carefully hidden behind her strong expression. Her gaze narrowed. "Off the record, Richard," she said quietly. "Caldwell's opinion?"

Woolsey paused a moment before shaking his head. "It wasn't him. Colonel Caldwell's last report to the IOA advised waiting as he felt it would be a premature decision to relieve Sheppard yet. The IOA is superseding both of you. I'm sorry."

Elizabeth swallowed against her emotions and nodded. "Thank you for telling me personally, Richard. Atlantis out."

As the transmission on her screen faded to black, Elizabeth sat back in her chair. She rubbed her eyes wearily, letting her emotions permeate her expression. They'd been fighting to get John back, to keep him in Atlantis and, in a twisted stroke of fate, their luck finally ran out.

---------------------------------------


	9. Chapter 9

_Update!_

_:D I'm closing on my new place tomorrow morning then moving. I'll try to be timely on getting the next (and might be last?) chapter of this story out. Thanks for the continued support and kind words :)_

"Dr. Weir."

Elizabeth had no idea how long she'd been sitting in her office, wrapped in her own thoughts, faced away from the door and the world. So, the voice that suddenly broke her silent brooding startled her. She turned away from the wall to face her doorway and met gazes with Colonel Caldwell. She sighed. "Colonel. What can I do for you?" She held her expression carefully neutral as he stood still for a moment, before slowly walking into her office.

Caldwell gestured at the chair in front of her desk. "May I?"

Woolsey's words echoed in her head.

"_It wasn't him…"_

Elizabeth softened her expression and nodded slightly. "Please."

Caldwell settled into the chair with a heavy sigh. Elbows perched on the armrests, he folded his hands in his lap and stared back at her for a moment before speaking. "I assume you spoke to the IOA?"

_Only a couple dozen times in the last week…_ Elizabeth nodded. She knew exactly what he was talking about. "Woolsey contacted me personally."

One side of Caldwell's mouth turned up slightly. "You do have some admirers out there, Dr. Weir." Something akin of respect flashed across his expression and as quickly as it appeared, the respect was replaced with a well-used neutral mask.

Elizabeth remained silent; observing the colonel, trying to gauge his mood but it was proving to be a daunting task. Somewhere along the way he'd learned to hide his moods well. A twinge of pain cramped her gut. _So different from John…_

Caldwell looked away from her. "Dr. Weir, the IOA is doing this against my recommendation. I know that doesn't change anything, but," he looked back at her, his gaze sincere, "I thought you should know anyway."

Elizabeth sighed deeply and sat back in her chair. "I already knew." She quirked an eyebrow at his questioning expression. "Off the record, Woolsey told me." She pushed out of her chair and stood. "In spite of the circumstances, I think congratulations are in order."

Caldwell stared up at her for a moment, before slowly standing. His expression was no nonsense. "I know you don't mean that."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to cross her arms defensively and instead settled for rubbing her brow; a vain attempt to tune out the headache that had plagued her for days. "I'd be lying if I said I was happy about this, Steven," she admitted plainly, "but I don't blame you. I blame those…" she looked up, "how did John put it? 'Paper pushing bureaucrats.'" Her small smile to him felt faint and pathetic.

Caldwell stepped around her desk and walked closer to her.

Elizabeth watched him silently. His gaze and demeanor felt very direct and straightforward, so she matched her expression to his.

Caldwell stopped a short distance from her. He was close enough to convey sincerity but far enough to remain unthreatening. "Dr. Weir… Elizabeth. I know we've had our differences. When I first came to Atlantis, I was convinced at least one of you was wrong for the job."

She felt one brow quirk slightly, and her gut clenched, but she remained silent and let him continue.

"Now?" Caldwell shrugged and his expression turned slightly challenging. "I'm still not entirely convinced, but I've seen things from Sheppard…," a hint of respect colored his expression briefly. "I'm willing to keep an open mind." He looked around. "This is…" after a moment his eyes caught her and his gaze narrowed slightly. "Premature."

Elizabeth drew in a silent, but deep breath as she quickly tried to process what he'd said and what he'd meant. At first she wasn't convinced his words and meanings were the same, but as she studied his expression some, she watched as he let down his guard slightly and, whether conscious or not, conveyed a hint of sincerity to her. In her gut she felt he was being honest, and that instinct had gotten her through too many diplomatic summits to ignore it. "Thank you, Steven," she said quietly.

Caldwell stepped back, turned and looked out the window at the inactive Stargate. "It might take some time to find the right person to command the Daedalus in my place." He looked at her. "I'll delay them as long as I can, but once the IOA and the Air Force have made up their minds…"

Elizabeth nodded and settled for conveying her thanks through her expression instead of words.

"That's the best I can do," Caldwell added quietly. He nodded once at her and silently took his leave.

She stared at the gate, barely hearing him leave her office. The situation was slightly improved, but not enough to make her feel that much better. She truly believed Caldwell would do what he could to help her, but, while he had considerable influence, there was only so much he could do.

"We're running out of time," she muttered before abruptly turning and tapping her headset. "Rodney, this is Weir, come in." After a moment a response came back over her headset.

"McKay here."

"Can you please come to my office? It's important." She smiled slightly at the quiet but exasperated sigh that precluded Rodney's reply.

"On my way. McKay out."

Elizabeth's smile faded as she walked back to her chair and slowly sat.

------------------------------------

"Ach, what do ye think you're doing?"

John winced, finished tying his boot lace and slowly sat up, meeting the intense gaze on Carson's face. "Going for a walk," he answered bluntly.

"Again?" Carson walked closer to John. "I know you're anxious to heal, Colonel, and you're getting much stronger, but I don't want ye to overdo it."

John took a deep breath and stifled his frustration. He scooted back slightly on his bed and swung his feet back and forth. "Come on, Carson. A walk to Stargate Ops and back isn't going to kill me. I'm going nuts cooped up in here."

"By yourself, I suppose," Carson crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nope. I'm going with him," a deep voice replied.

John looked past Carson and smiled at Ronon as the big man walked up and looked at Carson, his expression smug. John's eyes travelled back to Carson who seemed less than convinced that Ronon's presence made any difference whatsoever. "See? Ronon will make sure I don't get lost," he quipped darkly.

"Right," Carson answered dryly. He stared at Ronon for a moment before looking back at John. "You're only a few days away from being released. Don't push it."

John smiled. "No way." He slid off the bunk and took a deep breath as he found his balance. Every day it took less and less time for him to equilibrate when he stood up, and that alone encouraged him. _Now if I had the memories…_ he sighed and pushed away the thought. Passing Carson, his mouth quirked. "Thanks, Doc."

Carson's smile was genuine. "Aye, you're welcome. Don't be long."

John walked past the doctor. "Yes, mom," he answered.

--------------------------------

John paused as the infirmary doors closed behind him and took a deep, satisfied breath.

"Sheppard?"

John flashed a quick smile at Ronon. "Feels good to be out of my medical prison."

Ronon just chuckled quietly.

John buried his hands in his pant pockets and resumed walking down the hallway. "So, what have you been up to?" He glanced sideways at Ronon.

"Been off-world a few times with Lorne's team," Ronon answered. "Sparring with Teyla, helping the Athosians set up a hunting camp in the mountains. Not much else."

John looked directly at Ronon as the Satedan, seemingly on the verge of saying something, stared at him a moment before looking away. "What?" John asked.

Ronon shrugged. "Was just going to say I'm looking forward to our team going off world again." Ronon's gaze sobered as he looked back at John.

John sighed deeply and fixed his gaze forward as he continued down the hallway. He wanted to agree with Ronon, and somewhere in his gut, he knew leading his team was the bread and butter of his life, but the feelings weren't there. The sentiment, the bond. Sure, he'd re-made friends with all of them, but if there was one thing John had learned in his various tours of duty, is that there was nothing like a life or death situation to cement the bond between teammates. Facing death together forged a deep connection between people and actually made the team a more cohesive unit. It was still there for them. Ronon, Teyla even Rodney, but not for him. He knew it was buried somewhere, deep inside him, but shielded by his amnesia… and he keenly felt its absence.

"Sorry, Sheppard," Ronon finally spoke.

John flashed him a weak smile. "It's okay. Believe me, if I have my way, you'll get your wish." He returned his gaze forward as the east doors to the Gate room opened. Stepping through, he paused as his gaze fixed on the elegant blues and grays of the Stargate.

"_Then you don't even know about the Stargate?"_

_"The what?"_

"Sheppard?"

John could feel Ronon's scrutinizing gaze on him. He shook his head slightly, snapping out of his memories. "Nothing." He walked up the main stairs and into ops, freezing as a loud, demanding voice broke the relative quiet surrounding him.

"What? Of all the ridiculous, asinine… they're out of their damned, pea-brained minds!"

John turned fast, his gaze fixing on Elizabeth's office just in time to see her raise her hand at an obviously angry Rodney.

"Rodney," Elizabeth's voice was only slightly quieter.

"Where's Ronon?" Rodney answered, turning his volume up more. "Can we just have him shoot those squabbling…"

"Rodney!" Elizabeth snapped loudly, her voice echoing through Ops. She did a double take as she spotted John and Ronon standing quietly next to one of the control panels.

Even from a distance, John could see her shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, before she waved them to her office.

Rodney spotted John and his expression turned uncomfortable. "I uhh… yeah." He looked at Elizabeth. "Bad news is your department."

John stepped sideways making room for Rodney on the narrow walkway between Ops and Elizabeth's office, as the doctor breezed by him without so much as a glance. John arched a brow at Ronon. "This can't be good."

Ronon grunted and said nothing as John once more walked towards her office. He stopped in the doorway. "What's got Rodney so pissed?"

------------------------------

His question was simple enough, but Elizabeth suddenly found she couldn't look him in the eye, as she turned away, she could sense him stiffening at her response. Elizabeth sighed. What did she expect? It wasn't like this moment wasn't going to happen. He'd been relieved of command… and sooner or later she'd have to tell him. She walked behind her desk, before sitting down and folding her hands on its surface. "Come in and have a seat you two."She looked up and right into John's narrowed gaze.

John walked in and slowly sat in one of the chairs, while Ronon took the other. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like what you have to say?"

Elizabeth looked away, wishing, in vain, that she didn't have to tell him what she was about to say. "I received a communiqué from the IOA today…" Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes.

After a moment, John broke the silence. "They relieved me of my command, didn't they?"

Elizabeth swallowed hard. John's resigned and quiet voice held no note of question and she nodded silently.

"They're crazy," Ronon grumbled.

"Rodney agrees," she answered. Slowly Elizabeth looked up and straight into the intense, dark eyes of John. "And so do I. We're still fighting this, John. Even Colonel Caldwell is on your side." She watched as he slowly stood and walked over to the window overlooking the Stargate.

"Great," he answered softly. He looked back at her, anger, frustration and sadness all shouting their injustices at her, but his voice remained quiet. "When do I leave?"

Elizabeth's fingers tightened around each other as she stared down at her hands. "The Daedalus is scheduled to leave for Earth in three days." She pulled her hands apart and reached towards his arm as she looked up at him. "John…"

He stepped back. "Don't." For a moment, his expression softened. "I know you tried. Thanks." He turned and swiftly left her office without another word.

Elizabeth's gaze fell on Ronon, who sat totally still in his chair. "Aren't you going to go with him?"

"Nope. Man needs some time alone." Ronon fixed her with a no-nonsense stare. "This isn't right."

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. "I know." She dropped her head in resignation. "But there's nothing I can do to stop it."

------------------------------

John took the back stairs down from Ops two at a time, his growing strength fueled by anger. _Damn it!_ Part of him could see the IOA's point, even if he truly believed they were jumping the gun, and having that part war with the rest of him only pissed him off more. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and resisted the urge to put his fist through the wall as he stared around in vain, knowing who he needed to talk to, but not knowing where to go. A moment of dark humor passed through him as he envisioned himself with two bandaged hands, and that one thought was about all that kept him from denting the defenseless wall next to him.

He thought for a moment, before an idea momentarily chased back the dark cloud over his emotions. He smiled slightly and turned, making a beeline for his own quarters. Someplace, he thought with renewed frustration, he could actually find!

Stepping through the doorway into his quarters, John stopped, his gaze scanning the room until he zeroed in on the short table next to his bed. He walked swiftly to it and picked up the small radio that sat there. Fitting it over his ear, he tapped the call button as he headed back towards the door. "McKay, this is Sheppard, come in."

"Sheppard?" Rodney's voice immediately responded. "What are you doing with a radio?"

John abruptly halted and ground his teeth. "Never mind that. Where are you?"

"My lab. Why? What's going on? That is," Rodney stumbled, "I think I do know what's going on, but…" his voice trailed off.

"Rodney, shut up. I need to talk to you. In person. Now."

"Fine!" Annoyance colored Rodney's voice. "I'm in my lab."

John's tight control on his frustration slipped a little. " And where the hell is that?" He snapped forcefully.

"Oh," Rodney's voice was considerably quieter. "Right. Where are you?"

John took a deep breath and composed himself. "My quarters."

"Leave and turn left. I'll guide you the rest of the way."

"Copy that." John slammed his hand on the door crystal and stalked from his quarters.

---------------------------

Rodney looked up from his laptop as Sheppard stormed into his lab. His gaze narrowed. It was safe to say that through this whole ordeal, Rodney had been less then comfortable with Sheppard's situation. Personal relationships had never been his strong point. Dealing with a man who's lost his memory? Way out of Rodney's realm of comfort. But standing in the doorway staring at him was someone he found familiar. Gone was the hesitation and shadow of insecurity that had shrouded the Colonel since his injury. The face that stared back at Rodney was the determined face of the same man that had saved all their skins more than once. "Sheppard? What's going on?"

Sheppard walked into the room and stopped on the other side of the counter Rodney stood at. Rodney felt like the colonel's eyes were going to bore a hole straight through him. "Words, Colonel," he snapped. "Words would be good here."

"I need your help," Sheppard replied quietly but intensely.

Rodney closed the lid on his laptop. "Elizabeth told you the IOA relieved you, didn't she?" He watched Sheppard's lips tighten as the colonel ground his teeth in anger and Rodney didn't need a verbal answer.

Sheppard placed both of his fists on the counter and leaned in close to Rodney. "The Ancient healing device. You figured it out yet?"

Rodney swallowed hard. Normally, this was the point where he'd proudly proclaim that he had, even if he wasn't a hundred percent he was right. But, the look on Sheppard's face alarmed even him. There was a hint of desperation intermixed in the anger and frustration he wore so prominently; the expression of a man backed in a corner and desperate. "Well," Rodney stammered, "maybe."

Sheppard arched a humorless brow. "Maybe? How maybe? Maybe I'll go to dinner with a Wraith Friday night, maybe, or maybe I'm the smartest man on Atlantis, maybe?"

"There's no maybe to it," Rodney answered immediately, "I **am** the smartest man on Atlantis."

"McKay!" Sheppard snapped.

Rodney felt his own irritation rise. "Just," he raised both hands in exasperation, "maybe! I don't know yet."

"Rodney," Sheppard's voice was low and dangerous, "they're taking me off Atlantis in three days. I may not have much going up here," he pointed at his head, "but I do know I… I don't want to, I… I can't leave." His expression softened slightly as pain took the dominant role in his expression. "That healing device is my only chance."

Rodney fidgeted uncomfortably. This was so far out of his realm of comfort that he was almost at a complete loss as to what to say. "There must be something… I mean, even if you're not on Atlantis… you… you're a… a good officer…" even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the hollowness of them. Sheppard wasn't buying it, and, if he was in the colonel's shoes, Rodney knew he wouldn't either.

"I'll get a desk job if I'm lucky," Sheppard replied quietly. "They're not going to trust a man who's got more holes in his memories than a moth eaten sweater, with a field command." He quickly looked away, but not before Rodney caught the hint of vulnerability that flashed across his face. "I… I can't take that." He looked back up, blunt determination once again dominating his expression. "I'm going to try to use that healer, with or without your help."

Rodney's mind raced. He knew Sheppard and was sure the colonel's words were not an empty threat. "Look, don't you think… that is, shouldn't you, I don't know, sleep on this before you do something… rash?"

"No."

"Right," Rodney sighed. "Well, I'm not going to just stand by and let you fry your brain…" he lowered his voice to something just above a mutter, "not if I can help it anyway." He reached behind his laptop and unplugged it from the network. He looked up and right at Sheppard.

The colonel smiled slightly in gratitude. "Thanks, McKay."

"Sure. If you can't trust your Chief Scientist to try to keep you from scrambling your brain, who can you trust?" Rodney quipped darkly as he grabbed his laptop, pad and scanner. "We'll have to take the back way in to avoid Carson."

"Sounds like a plan," Sheppard responded, "I'm overdue to return to the infirmary anyway."

"Oh wonderful," Rodney sighed, "you do realize Carson will send out the cavalry to find you?"

"Yep," Sheppard paused and looked around as the door to the lab opened. "That's why we need to hurry." He looked back at Rodney expectantly. "Back way?"

Rodney nodded. "Right. This way." He quickly started down the hallway, Sheppard right behind him.

------------------------------------

"Elizabeth, this is Carson, come in please."

Elizabeth looked up from her laptop, her gaze narrowing at the note of concern in Carson's voice. She tapped her headset. "This is Weir. What is it, Carson?"

"Have ye seen the Colonel?"

Quiet but insistent alarms went off in the back of her head. "Not recently, no. Is there a problem?"

"Maybe," Carson answered. "He was supposed to come straight back here from Ops. He's not back yet. Do ye know where he went when he left there?"

Elizabeth sighed and stood. "No. I do know he was pretty upset though."

"Upset?" Carson questioned.

"Yes. The IOA…" she sighed, "relieved him of duty."

"Bloody hell!" Carson swore. "Was Ronon with him?"

"No," Elizabeth unconsciously shook her head. "John left alone."

"Damn it," Carson sighed loudly. "Is Ronon still there?"

"No," Elizabeth looked out the window towards Ops. "But if you think it's necessary, I'll start a search for John."

"Aye, it's necessary," Carson answered.

"Understood," Elizabeth walked out of her office towards Ops. "We'll start a search immediately. Weir out." She stopped next to the communications tech and nodded. "Colonel Sheppard is missing and we need to find him. Call Major Lorne to Ops along with McKay." She turned and faced the inactive gate, her thoughts racing as behind her, the technician started his hails.

----------------------------

Nearly to the infirmary lab, Rodney stopped in his tracks as a hail came across Atlantis' communication system.

"Dr. McKay, please report to Ops immediately."

He exchanged worried glances with Sheppard. "Uh oh." Rodney scratched the back of his neck absently as he searched for an answer. "What do I tell them?"

"Well, don't tell them you're with me," Sheppard answered immediately.

"Oh thank you!" Rodney snapped. "That's so incredibly **not** helpful!"

"Well I don't know!" Sheppard's voice was equally exasperated. "Just… stall 'em!"

Rodney tapped his headset. "This is McKay. What's going on?" He demanded. He listened to the reply in his headset before tapping it and closing the channel. "They're calling in the troops to look for you."

Sheppard grimaced. "Great. McKay…"

Rodney waved. "I know, I know… stall them." He tapped his radio again. "I'm in the middle of something…" he glanced at Sheppard, throwing the colonel an irritated look, "unusual. I'll be there in a few minutes, McKay out."

"A few minutes?" Sheppard stared incredulously at him.

"Well, I couldn't tell them an hour!" Rodney snapped. "Come on." He walked the rest of the short distance to the infirmary lab before quickly entering it. He waited until Sheppard passed through and the doors closed, before he quickly removed the panel and pulled two crystals from the door controls.

"What are you doing?" Sheppard watched intently.

"Locking it." Rodney answered. He turned an annoyed look on Sheppard. "Just how long do you think it'll take them to put two and two together and know what you're going to try to do?" He stared at Sheppard's frustrated look for a moment. "Never mind," Rodney waved. "Just… trust me, they'll figure it out soon enough." Rodney walked past Sheppard and up to the device's control panel. He connected his laptop and pad, before looking up expectantly at the colonel. "This isn't going to work unless you lie down on the thing."

Sheppard eyed the device for a moment before he sighed deeply. "Right." He slowly sat down on the edge of the platform and looked up at Rodney. "Look, Rodney," his brows furrowed slightly. "Even if this doesn't work… thanks anyway." He smiled slightly.

Rodney stared at him a minute, trying to quell his discomfort. "Right uhh… you're welcome." He waited a moment until Sheppard had laid down on the platform before issuing the command for the lid to slide shut. "God, I hope this works," he muttered.

_Cliffie!! Bwahahahaha!!!_


	10. Chapter 10

John took a deep breath as he watched the scanner bed cover slowly close over him. He felt like he was in a cramped MRI machine and for a moment he was relieved that he wasn't claustrophobic.

"_If you can't trust your Chief Scientist to try to keep you from scrambling your brain, who can you trust?"_

John folded his hands on his stomach and tapped his fingers idly. The tension he felt boiled over and he jumped slightly as his radio clicked on.

"Sheppard."

John reached up and tapped the call button on his headset. "What is it, McKay?"

"Take your headset off," Rodney replied smugly.

John was momentarily annoyed that Rodney had correctly assumed he still had it on. "Right," John sighed. He pulled the small headset off his ear and held onto it as he again rested his hands on his stomach. A minute passed, then another. He looked around. "Come on," he muttered. As if on cue the soft green tint of light turned to a deep red as a low humming seemed to vibrate through his body.

He didn't really know what to do, so John settled for trying his best to quell his nerves and relax. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

At first, it felt like someone was tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. Not painful, not annoying just… there. But, as he tried his best to stay relaxed, the tingling intensified, turning to an itch, then a mild burn. _Okay, this isn't so pleasant anymore…_

John winced as the pain grew. He could feel his jaw clench in response and he clenched his eyes tighter shut before drawing in a sharp, hissing breath.

The pain grew in intensity with every moment and with every passing second it spread through his head until he felt as if his entire skull was going to explode. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and his breaths came in deep gasps. "Mc…Kay…" he stammered.

-----------------------------

"Ma'am, anything?"

Elizabeth turned and flashed a brief, strained smile at Major Lorne. "Not yet."

"With any luck, we're worrying over nothing," Lorne replied. "Still, I got my guys out scouting the city. We'll find the Colonel."

"He is not anywhere outside the designated green zones of the city," Radek Zelenka interjected quietly, "the sensors show no indication that anyone is out of bounds."

"Should've chained him to his bed," Carson groused quietly, "who knows what his mental state is now that the IOA has relieved him."

Elizabeth sighed. Bad news or not, for all intents and purposes, John was pretty level headed. "Carson, I don't think he'd do anything **too** rash…."

Carson smiled slightly. "Aye, he's got a good head on his shoulders, even if it's a stubborn one, but he might do something on impulse; think it's the best thing when it might not be."

"Him and Rodney," Elizabeth commented absently. Her brow furrowed. "Where is Rodney anyway?"

"He said he was in the middle of something and would be up in a few minutes, ma'am," the gate technician answered. He frowned, "that was at least fifteen minutes ago."

Elizabeth tapped her radio call button. "McKay, this is Weir, come in please." She looked down for a moment as she waited for a reply that never came. "Rodney? Do you copy?" She exchanged puzzled glances with Carson. "That's odd. Rodney's never away from his radio."

"First the Colonel, now McKay…" Carson's voice trailed off and his eyes widened as he stared at Elizabeth. "You don't think…"

Elizabeth felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. It was too much of a coincidence. John leaves her office angry, maybe even a little desperate, looking for a solution, now Rodney wasn't answering. Her racing mind ground to a halt as one answer stuck to her. She had no facts, only circumstances but her instincts screamed in warning. "The scanner." Apparently, she wasn't alone in her assumptions.

"Confirmed," Radek responded. "Two life signs are registering in the infirmary lab."

"Bloody hell!" Carson pushed away from the control panel he'd been leaning on and ran for the back stairs, Lorne and Elizabeth hot on his tail. "Beckett to the infirmary. Dr. Peterson, I want someone to check and see if Dr. McKay and Colonel Sheppard are in the auxiliary lab immediately!"

Elizabeth quirked a brow as Carson grabbed the stairwell rail and practically threw himself down the stairs. She looked back. "Radek, we may need your expertise as well." She nodded once as Radek left his post and hurried after them.

"Even with his ego, I can't believe Rodney would consent to help the colonel do something this insane!" Carson ranted.

"John can be pretty persuasive when he puts his mind to it, Carson," Elizabeth answered. "And Rodney… he's not going to let John do something like this all alone."

"Peterson to Beckett, the lab is inaccessible. Looks like the door is locked from the inside. We tried the back entrance but it seems to be locked as well."

Elizabeth sighed in frustration as Dr. Peterson's report came over the radio.

"Damn it!" Carson jumped down the last few stairs and jogged down the hallway towards the infirmary. "That tears it, they have to be there."

Elizabeth pursed her lips and followed behind Carson, Radek's colorful Czech expletives echoing behind her.

--------------------------

He floated.

Somewhere between the pain of awareness and the bliss of unconsciousness, John lingered. Each breath he took, each beat of his heart sent a new wave of pain through his head. Reds danced in his vision, cutting swaths of color over the blackness of oblivion that lingered just beyond. Slowly, the reds took shape; scenes, memories pulled from the reaches of his mind…

"_Sheppard!"_

_John looked up from his plate and watched Colonel Hays cross the mess towards him. He dropped his fork and quickly stood. "Sir." _

_Hays waved absently at him. "At ease, Major. I have an assignment for you." Hays sat down opposite John and motioned him to take his seat. Hays waved at the plate. "Finish your meal. You've got a little time yet." _

_John slowly sat. "Little time, sir?" _

_Hays nodded. "Yep. I need you to ferry one General Jack O'Neill to the research station. He's en route. Should be here in about a half hour. I want you to meet him at the landing and take him right out to the outpost." _

_John's quick bite to his sandwich wasn't just to finish his food; he hoped the action would conceal his grimace, but, Hays quiet chortle proved he hadn't quite managed to hide his look. _

"_Don't start that, Major. I know ferrying diplomats and generals from here to the research station isn't the most glamorous or exciting job in the Air Force, but someone has to do it." _

_John stopped mid-chew and made eye contact with the colonel. Unspoken words radiated from Hays face. _

You're damn lucky to be flying at all.

_John swallowed his bite and nodded. "Yes, sir." _

_Hays stood and turned away from the table, only to stop and look back. "It'll blow over one of these days, John. You won't be in Antarctica forever." He held John's gaze for another moment before walking away..._

The memories washed over John, faster than he could comprehend them, each one sending a new stab of pain through his skull. His breath turned ragged and his arms shot out to the side, his hands crashing into the cocoon that surrounded him. His tense fingers scraped down the sides of the machine as the assault marched on, mercilessly. But, through it all, like a dam opening up, memories and flashbacks swarmed over him, driving back the dark nothingness of amnesia that had shrouded him since his accident.

_John stamped the snow out of the treads of his boots as he stepped onto the freshly plowed airstrip and walked towards his chopper. He looked left as Colonel Hays along with another man walked towards them. John stopped next to his bird and waited quietly as Hays and the man approached. _

_Hays nodded slightly in John's direction, before returning his attention to the other man. "General O'Neill," Hays waved back in John's direction, "Major John Sheppard. He'll be flying you to the outpost." Hays looked at John. "Major, General Jack O'Neill." _

_John straightened his posture slightly and nodded once at the General. "Sir." O'Neill's eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses and John found his expression hard to read, but the General seemed to study him for a moment before smiling slightly._

"_Major." _

A strangled cry escaped John's mouth, but he fought hard, trying to hold onto the memories and tune out the pain. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, where any rational thought still existed against the onslaught of pain, he knew the memories were coming back, and at this point all the pain in the galaxy was worth it…

"_I kinda like it here…"_

"_Sir, what the hell was that?"_

Like a gigantic puzzle, new memories tied to ones he'd already experienced, slowly forming the tapestry of his life the last three years.

"_Did I do that?"_

_O'Neill stared hard at him. "and I think anyone who doesn't want to go through the Stargate is equally as whacked!" _

"Stargate…" he croaked, "Atlantis…"

------------------------------------

Rodney could feel the color drain from his face. Though muffled, the agony in Sheppard's cry came through the lid of the scanner loud and clear. "Oh, God…" He looked down at his pad, quickly skimming the readings coming from the scanner. "Damn it!" Sheppard was in pain. God knows what the scanner was doing to him, but from everything Rodney saw in his data he realized that stopping the process would surely kill the colonel.

A pounding on the lab door snapped him from his thoughts.

"Rodney!"

Even dampened by the thick door, Rodney could still make out the heavy accent of Beckett. He opened his mouth to respond, only to hold his voice as his radio clicked on.

"Rodney, open the door now."

He winced at the cold, commanding tone of Elizabeth's voice. Reaching up, he tapped his earpiece. "Just a second." Taking one, quick look at the scanner, he swiftly walked across the room and replaced the door crystal. Not waiting for the door to open, he trotted back to Sheppard's side. From behind he heard the scuffle of feet as Elizabeth and company entered the lab.

"Shut it down, now!" Carson demanded as he stopped next to the scanner.

"No!" Rodney's shout stopped Radek who reached past him and towards the control console. He batted Radek's hand away. "You can't! The process is too far along! Look at the data! You stop it now, you'll kill him!"

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Carson demanded loudly.

"I didn't force him into this, Carson!" Rodney snapped back, a note of desperation in his voice. "He forced me! He was going to do this with or without me! He stood a lot better chance of not becoming a human vegetable if I was here to monitor the process! I didn't have much choice in the matter!"

"Damn it, Rodney," Elizabeth whispered as she laid her hand on the scanner lid and stared through the clouded glass at Sheppard's pained face.

-------------------------------------

Agony assaulted him, but somehow he endured; knowing that with it, came what he needed the most… his past. He felt like his head was on fire and strangled cries periodically escaped him. His breaths came in deep, rapid gasps as the scanner continued its work; technology that was so far beyond them… technology of the Ancients themselves…

"_It's a metaphor. Don't you see? This entire expedition is the biggest Hail Mary in human history."_

"_The lights are coming on by themselves…"_

"_On the surface without a shield? We're target practice…"_

John gasped loudly, the pain he felt suddenly nothing compared to the anger, and cold hatred that flowed through him.

_Wraith…_

"_I'm sure you'll warm up to me once you get to know me, sir." _

"_I'm gonna fly us all out of here, including the colonel."_

Sumner… he felt the concussion of the P-90 in his grip as he fired the bullet to end the Colonel's agony… and felt the guilt at doing it that plagued him for months and in some ways still did, for with the memories, came all the emotions associated. But, unlike before, they all hit him at once, creating a pain exponentially worse than the physical agony he suffered. Anger surfaced.

"_That has to kill you…" _

He could feel the Wraith's warm blood on his hands, the dark satisfaction he took in killing her…

The guilt over the repercussions of his actions.

Slowly, as the pieces of his past came together, he began to realize that, like a puzzle, the pieces were scattered; fitting into place sure, but not in order. His mind jumped all over the past three years, associating memories with feelings, not with time…

"_Look, Lieutenant. What I'm trying to say is that if you don't get this damn thing off me, I have even less time than you do."_

"_The infirmary isn't secure. The inhibitor's only keeping me lucid, it's not slowing the retrovirus."_

They'd helped him… stood by him… saved him more than once, and he them.

"_You don't leave our people in the hands of the enemy!"_

"_Well, perhaps you've noticed that every time we step through the Stargate, bad guys try to kill us, and I'm getting a little tired of it. How 'bout you?"_

"_Our people are in the hands of the enemy, Doctor. Do you know what that means? It is just a matter of time before the Wraith figure out that this is the base of our operations…"_

Desperation… these people were more than his comrades. Isolation and relying on each other for survival had forged a deep bond; a relationship he'd do anything to preserve. A memory came back to him. One that had flashed through is mind before, but this time, instead of confusing him, it made sense. He understood and felt the meaning…

"_Weapon is armed and ready. I'm going in."_

A strong sense of protectiveness pierced the pain that tormented him emotionally and physically. He'd never fought an enemy like the Wraith… no one from Earth had. He'd crossed lines he never thought he would in the name of protecting the people he cared about, and fighting an enemy on a level he never thought he'd ever face.

"_We're at war. The Wraith will stop at nothing to kill every one of us. And we'll stop at nothing to make sure that doesn't happen." _

"_Hold on a minute, Doc. If we hadn't given him the retrovirus, he'd still be a Wraith. We wouldn't think twice about killing him."_

Somewhere, deep inside and through all of this, he'd known that Atlantis was so much more than just a post to him… somehow, along the way, it'd become his lifeblood and he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. He'd found his niche here and as the Ancient device continued its work on him, the holes in his memory filled. He felt the pain of every death under his command, the guilt of decisions that went wrong… but all of it was countered by the friends that he'd made along the way. People that meant more to him then he was comfortable admitting.

"_I was going to say, um... take care of each other."_

The pain in his head lessened, and unconsciousness pushed on the edge of his thoughts. He felt like he was floating on warm waves carrying him to the blissful darkness. Somehow, though, he felt contented. The storm of memories quieted, but as he succumbed to unconsciousness one stuck with him.

"_I'd do anything ... for any one of you. If I had to give up my life the way Ronon was going to, I would."_

-------------------------------

"It's done," Rodney whispered as the fast streaming data on his pad, slowed to a crawl. He looked up, apprehension cramping his gut as the scanner slowly slid open. Almost numb, he stared at Sheppard's unmoving form. "Is he…" _he has to be…_

Carson knelt and pressed his fingers into Sheppard's throat before nodding. "He's alive."

Rodney spun, switched the device to back to passive scan mode and initiated it. He stared at the readings, his mind swiftly translating the Ancient language. "According to this, he's fine…" Rodney swallowed and looked down at Sheppard. "But, he shouldn't be unconscious."

"God knows what happened," Carson muttered coldly. "In some ways, Ancient physiology was very different than ours." He looked up at Lorne who nodded once.

Rodney just stared at Sheppard's unmoving form, barely noticing Lorne trot past him, open the main door to the infirmary and order a stretcher. "He was going to do it with or without me," Rodney muttered, more to try and convince himself than anyone else. "I didn't have a choice. I couldn't let him… not alone…." He looked up as Elizabeth's gaze met his and her expression softened. She backed out of the way of the medical team and walked over to him.

"Rodney."

Elizabeth's voice was gentle but Rodney wouldn't have anything to do with it. "I should've stopped him," Rodney interrupted Elizabeth. He looked at her, guilt swarming over him. "What have I done?"

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	11. Chapter 11

_The reviews, as always, have been wonderful. Thank you so much for your kind words and I'm so glad you all have enjoyed this story so much:) Alas, here we are at the end. The good news is, I have another story idea ready to go. Hope to start that one next week. :D In the mean time, enjoy the end of this one and thanks again for the support!  
_

Sometimes, Elizabeth wondered how she managed to keep the grey from her hair with all the time she seemed to spend in the infirmary. For the second time in as many months, she was pacing the clean floor, waiting for some word as John lay motionless not far from her.

She spared a glance at both Ronon and Teyla only recently returned from the mainland. She'd called them as soon as John showed up as missing, but by the time they'd gotten back, he was already in the infirmary.

She smiled thinly. "How are your people, Teyla?"

Teyla's smile mirrored hers. "Recovering. The storm damage was… significant, but we are rebuilding."

"Should've been here," Ronon muttered his eyes fixed on John.

Elizabeth turned her attention to the big runner. "Would you have tried to stop him if you had?" It was a long moment before Ronon slowly looked at her, his gaze narrowing.

"No."

Ronon's answer didn't surprise Elizabeth as she returned her attention to John. She hated seeing him like this, almost as much as she hated the situation that drove him to it. But this… not knowing whether or not he was going to be okay, or if the procedure even worked, was nearly intolerable. Her gaze slowly lifted from John and settled on Rodney, standing quietly next to John's bed.

Elizabeth sighed quietly as she crossed the room to stand next to Rodney. Slowly, she reached out and lightly grasped his forearm. "Hey. You okay?" She asked, quietly.

It was a long moment before Rodney looked up at her. Silent, he didn't seem to be able to find the right words, but to Elizabeth, his expression said everything. "It's not your fault, Rodney. No matter what the outcome is, this isn't your fault."

Rodney's quiet snort was far from convinced. "Really? Forgive me if I don't share your opinion. This was my project and I'm the one that insisted I could make it work…"

"Rodney," Elizabeth interrupted gently. "You and I both know John would've tried this with or without your help."

"I could've stopped him," Rodney insisted. "Called you, or Carson or had Ronon throw him in the brig. Anything," he waved his hand over John's unconscious body, "but this."

Elizabeth pursed her lips but remained silent. Rodney had a point, and yes he _could've _done any of those things, but as she thought about it, she became more and more convinced that he never would've. In the three years that she'd watched John and Rodney's friendship grow, there were two things she'd learned and accepted as facts about it. Each one felt a friendship for the other that was deeper than either would admit... and each one would do anything to help the other, regardless of the situation. Period. "You could've, Rodney," she said quietly before glancing over at him and giving him a small smile. "But you wouldn't have." She held Rodney's gaze as he looked at her for a long moment before finding a slight smile of his own.

"Yeah," Rodney returned his gaze to John.

Elizabeth's attention returned to John as a quiet, deep inhale followed by a soft groan precluded him stirring slightly. "John?" She quickly stepped closer to his bed, Rodney right next to her. Behind her she heard Ronon and Teyla approach.

"Carson, he is awakening," Teyla hailed the doctor as she rounded John's bed and stood next to Ronon and opposite of Elizabeth and Rodney.

Elizabeth reached out and lightly wrapped her fingers around John's limp ones, before squeezing gently. "John?"

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Slowly, as unconsciousness folded back off of him, John gradually became aware that he wasn't alone. It wasn't his eyes, or his ears, but just a gut feeling, and that gut feeling sharpened him, helped him find his way up the path to awareness. A faint, instinctive alarm went off inside him and he pulled in a deep fresh breath before groaning quietly as his throbbing head made its pain very plain to him. _Damn!_

"John?"

The light voice woke his mind and in that instant, that moment when full consciousness found him, he felt the completeness of his memories. Gone was the dark shroud of amnesia that had covered his soul like a damp, cold blanket since his injury. _Elizabeth._ He instantly identified the voice. _Atlantis._ Inside, he was elated, but the best his body could do was let him crack a half smile. "Hi," he croaked, before clearing his throat. He peeled his eyes open and instantly met her smiling expression.

"Hi yourself," she answered. "How do you feel?"

"Like crap," he muttered. He glanced around, seeing the smiles on each of his team member's faces before spotting Carson who hurried to his bedside.

"Colonel? How are ye, son?" Carson looked at him a moment longer before fixing his gaze on the monitors over John's head.

"Been better." Again, John looked around at the faces staring at him. The range of emotions he could see reflected each of their personalities. Rodney looked slightly guilty, Teyla and Elizabeth, openly worried and Ronon… worried but much more subtle. But in each of their faces, there also was a hint of expectant hope. It was like each of them, in their own way were saying the same thing. _Did it work?"_

Again, John took a deep breath. "Damn T'eshii. That's two I owe 'em." He could feel the tension around him break.

"John, then you…" Elizabeth started.

"Everything," he interrupted with a smile. He tapped his skull lightly. "No more holes." His smile deepened slightly as Elizabeth's small, hesitant one broke into a full grin. She reached up and tapped her radio. "Weir to control. Please contact Colonel Caldwell and ask him to return to Atlantis immediately." Her grin faded back to a smile as she looked down at John. "He has the Daedalus out testing some hyperdrive modifications. They're probably on the other side of the solar system but shouldn't take too long to get back."

"Besides," Carson interrupted, "just because you're conscious, lucid and claiming to have all your memories back, doesn't mean I don't have a barrage of tests to run on ye."

"Well, Carson, maybe now you'll believe me when I tell you I can make something work," Rodney interrupted, his gaze turning challenging.

John chuckled quietly as Carson just stared coldly at Rodney for a moment before rolling his eyes and looking away.

John's gaze passed over Ronon who nodded back at him, before it settled on Teyla. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the odd mix of relief, happiness and guilt that blanketed her expression. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she just stared silently back at her. He looked back at Carson. "The tests will have to wait, Doc. I think Teyla and I need to talk… alone."

"Colonel, can't this wait? You just woke up, son." Carson protested.

He shook his head. "No."

"John…" Teyla started.

John looked back at her. "Teyla." His voice was gentle but still firm. He stared at her until she dropped her head and nodded slightly. He turned his attention back to Carson, who had quietly watched the whole exchange.

"Aye," Carson nodded in resignation. He backed away and followed behind Ronon and Elizabeth, grabbing Rodney's arm and dragging him along behind.

"Wait…" Rodney started.

"Come on, Rodney," Carson held tight to Rodney's shirt sleeve. "You can pester him later." Carson gently pushed Rodney ahead of him before stopping and grabbing the privacy curtain.

Carson took a moment to nod slightly at John before he pulled the curtain shut.

John took a deep breath and shifted his gaze back to Teyla. He studied her for a moment. She stood a short distance away from his bed, her body tense and back rigid. The fingers of her right hand clenched and relaxed at regular intervals, probably subconsciously. He looked up at her face. Her normally full lips were pressed into a thin line as she stared, wordlessly, back at him.

He glanced pointedly at the stool next to his bed. "Have a seat, Teyla," he suggested quietly.

After a moment, she stiffly waked to the stool and sat. "John," she started, "I do not see why…"

"Teyla," John interrupted. He smiled gently. "Let me go first, here, okay?"

Teyla dropped her head, looked away and nodded once.

John shifted slightly in his bed so he could look at her easier. His sore body protested, but he tuned it out. "I know you're carrying a lot of guilt over what happened to me," he started quietly, "but, I want you to let it go." His brows furrowed in compassion as, even with her head bowed, he spotted one tear escape her face and land on the top of her folded hands before she hastily reached up and wiped her face. "None of this is your fault," he insisted softly.

"I… I do not agree," Teyla's voice was choked, "I should have been paying attention and been more careful."

"Nope," John immediately answered. "It was an ambush, Teyla. The whole point was to catch us by surprise."

"It did not surprise you," she answered.

"Hell yes, it did." John insisted quietly. "I just happened to be facing the direction the ambush came from." He sighed quietly, chafing at how blind luck still managed to factor into his team's survival sometimes, in spite of his best effort to anticipate anything.

"Teyla look at me," he insisted gently. John waited a long moment before she met his gaze. "I have no doubt that if that ambush would've come from the opposite direction, you would've spotted it and warned us." He stared harder at her, trying to impart some of his confidence onto her. "And if a grenade would've landed behind me, you would've done the same thing." He smiled slightly at her small nod. "That's what a team does, Teyla; we watch each other's six. You've covered my back enough times that I trust you with my life. Completely." He reached out and squeezed her knuckles gently. "Let it go." He let his expression turn imploring as she stared back at him.

After a long moment, her mouth turned up in a small, strained smile, her nod jerky. She swallowed hard. "Thank you for my life, John," she whispered.

John felt his mouth pull up into a smile of his own, as warmth and affection spread through him. "Anytime," he answered.

Teyla inhaled deeply and stood, carefully pulling her had away from his. "You must get your rest, Colonel and I believe Carson wishes to examine you."

John grimaced. "I'm fine. I wish he'd just take my word for it."

Teyla smiled warmly. "Rest, John, and heal. Atlantis needs you." She bowed her head respectfully at him and left without another word.

John pushed his head further into his pillow.

_"Atlantis needs you."_

He smiled as his thoughts centered on the city. Just let the IOA try to take his command away now.

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_**Epilogue:**_

"Colonel."

The hail from behind stopped John in his tracks. He turned and found a polite smile for Colonel Caldwell, who was walking up the corridor behind him. He nodded slightly as the Daedalus commander stopped next to him. "Colonel. I was headed for the command deck."

"So was I," Caldwell answered. "Mind if I join you?"

John shook his head and resumed walking. "No, sir." John let the urgency into his stride as he quickly walked down the hallway. Ever since Carson had cleared him for light duty two days ago, he'd been busting his butt trying to catch up on everything from new soldier rotations from the SGC to intel from the various Athosian agents travelling around the galaxy.

"The Daedalus is leaving at 0700 tomorrow for Earth. We're overdue and I think everything is under control here."

John glanced at Caldwell's carefully neutral expression. "Yes, sir…. Well as under control as it ever is around here…" he quipped. He thought he heard a quiet chortle from Caldwell.

"True," Caldwell answered.

John continued walking, part of him curious as to what was on the Colonel's mind. In spite of the neutral expression, Caldwell seemed to want to say something. John settled for waiting as he wove his way through the busy corridor.

After a minute, Caldwell spoke. "Congratulations on keeping your command, Colonel. It's… deserved."

Caldwell's statement stopped John in his tracks. His gaze narrowed as he faced the Colonel. He thought back to the briefing only a few days ago where Elizabeth had told him that command of Atlantis was his again. He'd assumed that it was from the moment he woke with his memories intact, but found out quickly that with the IOA, it hadn't been that simple. John sighed quietly, mostly in relief that he was still there… and not prepping to leave on the Daedalus in the morning. "Elizabeth tells me that you had a voice in reversing the IOA's decision about me."

A hint of a smile played at Caldwell's expression. "Dr. Weir and General O'Neill were the loudest voices, Colonel. The General seems to have taken a liking to you. I simply gave my recommendation."

John felt a blush start on his neck. It wasn't the first time the General had stood up for him, and he honestly wondered, sometimes, what he'd done to deserve it. After they'd repelled the Replicators occupation of Atlantis, Rodney had told him in a not so affectionate but typically Rodney McKay way, that he was a lot like the General, both sharing what Rodney called, flippant, annoying mannerisms. John pulled his thoughts back to the present. He looked around for a moment before again focusing on the Colonel. "With all due respect, sir, that's not what Elizabeth said. She talked to Richard Woolsey who said you strongly insisted."

This time, a brief flash of a smile actually touched Caldwell's mouth. "See you in about a month, Colonel."

John smiled back, catching the moment of slightly grudging, but still genuine, respect that touched the Colonel's expression. Wordlessly, John returned the favor. "Have a safe trip, sir."

Caldwell nodded once, curtly. "Thank you, Colonel." He turned and headed towards the back stairs to the command deck.

John watched him for a moment, before he looked around at the busy corridor, his smile lingering. In spite of everything bad that had happened, there had been plenty of good too. He couldn't see himself anywhere else but here, on Atlantis, leading his team.

And that, he decided, suited him just fine.

-The End-


End file.
